Redemption for a Fool
by Caroline Jessamine
Summary: Sam Axe is surrounded by lovebirds, and it's given him an idea, but before he can wed the woman of his dreams he needs to divorce the one he's been married to in name only for 30 years. On second thought . . .
1. Chapter 1

These entertaining characters do not belong to me. They belong to the USA network, the genius of Matt Nix, his writers and the talented actors who give us human faces to see them more clearly. With thanks for letting me borrow them for a while.

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Sam Axe sat in his car, appraising the house before him.

It hadn't changed that much. Not really. The mailbox at the end of the driveway said AXE on the side and was held upright by crossed axe handles. Red geraniums flourished underneath.

The house sat on the hill above the small vale, a good place to spot visitors or enemies.

He noticed the tin roof was new, and the shutters were now green instead of blue. Four rocking chairs sat on either side of the central front door. The trees were bigger. That huge tractor tire she'd insisted would be perfect for a kid's sandbox was still there. It had been joined by a swing set that looked new.

He stopped wondering if she'd ever had kids after he'd left. She always wanted them. Funny, Mack didn't mention anything, but he did say she'd left him, too. Briefly, he wondered what he'd missed. Didn't matter, though. Not really.

It was a tad bit strange and vaguely unsettling being here, but he'd be fine.

He just needed a couple of beers. That's how he'd dealt with most anything unpleasant in his personal life. A couple of beers, a little flirting, or a lot of it, some all-night companionship and the unpleasant disappeared. It was an excellent plan and it'd been working well for the past 30 years, more or less, ever since he'd left here.

But as he'd watched his younger friends settle into their lives, the ones they wanted to live, he'd observed they now had something that had always seemed out of his reach. It was that true intimate connection with another person he could see between some married people, never see in others.

He was surrounded by it. Circled. He couldn't turn around without running into someone looking into someone's eyes with love. It was . . . unsettling. Unnerving.

He'd always expected, at some point, Michael and Fiona would make it permanent, and they did. It had surprised the hell out of him when Jesse and Dani married, but then all he had to know that that was going to stick was to watch them together. Now they were expecting a kid, too.

But it wasn't until Maddie came back from her CIA-coerced vacation with a new boyfriend that Sam found himself on the outside looking in. Even Mike's crazy brother Nate and his crazier wife Ruth had stopped arguing for some strange reason. It was almost like they liked each other again. Now that was something unexpected.

Then he paused.

That's when he started asking himself what he wanted.

That question eventually zeroed in on who.

Who he wanted.

He'd never admit it, but his ego was tired of being a boy toy. It had certainly been pleasant, but the fact was Big Mamma had a boy toy no matter where she went.

Fiona had wondered about that once, in passing.

Or maybe, he frowned, it hadn't been in passing. He'd finally figured out Fi asked sneaky stuff like that all the time. Women. He hated being manipulated. It didn't matter, because he'd come up with this on his own. The last time Ilsa came to Miami she had a younger boy toy on her arm and that ended that. He surprised himself when he realized he was damned happy to be a graceful loser.

Which is how he came to find himself in North Carolina with a plan.

He needed to find Ronnie and beg her forgiveness and ask her to take him back. Before he could do that he wanted the divorce he'd never taken time to get, and for that, he needed Amanda Axe's cooperation. It shouldn't be too difficult, he thought.

He should have done this years ago. Surely, after all this time they could both wipe the slate clean. He'd apologize very sincerely and that would be that. He was good at being very sincere, if he did say so himself.

Although, now that he thought about it, the possibility existed that it might take a little longer. If memory served, Amanda could out-difficult the most difficult of women. She could probably give Fiona Westen a real run for her money. And Dani Porter was no slouch in the stubborn department. He'd discovered that recently.

Maybe she'd changed.

Probably, she'd changed.

Time had passed.

He hoped she'd changed.

He'd just be some old memory and she could say good riddance.

He parked where he'd always parked and had to wonder if the key he'd kept all these years still worked. Maybe he'd try it, but it didn't look like he'd need to. The front door was open and the screen door was letting an early summer breeze waft through the house.

She always liked to do that. Open the doors and windows and let the outside in.

There was music coming from some place at the rear of the house. Since the door was open, the screen door on the porch allowed easy admittance so he tugged. It was latched. He looked around. Still no door bell.

Now that he stood here, he realized the house smelled exactly the same as it had the last time he was here. Fresh baked bread. If ever there had been an aphrodisiac, it was her homemade bread. Now that was a pleasant memory he hadn't thought about in years. It was probably best not to think about that now, but it was such a tempting scent.

Unless, of course, she'd offer him a slice or two. He put on his best smile, and rapped on the door.

The sound woke a slumbering beast. A shaggy white rug erupted with flying fur, a roaring bark and snapping teeth, a canine abominable snowman with a huge mouth, dark eyes and enormous feet.

The thing bounded to the door, a thundering, prancing white dog that looked like it could be an albino wolf. Its bark was vicious and deep and made every little hair on his arms and the back of his neck stand straight up. He knew the dog sensed his fear because it started barking and snarling an even more aggressive manner when he took a step backward.

Sam now realized there was only a thin layer of wire mosquito screening between him and dog and took another step back. He reached behind to the small of his back before realized he wasn't armed. Oh, this could be bad. He took another step back.

"Diesel! Quiet!"

The sound of her voice arrived and then so did she. She took hold of the dog's choke collar and yanked. It quieted. She looked up and out to see who was on her porch.

Instant recognition, about 30 years past due.

Thunk.

Sam almost, almost, stopped breathing.

She'd hardly changed at all, except for the very fine lines around those intensely blue eyes. Her body was more voluptuous than he remembered. She looked rounder and softer all over. There might be a couple of strands of silver mixed in with blonde, and he was glad to see she'd left it long instead of chopping it off as so many women did when they got older. It was all tied up at the top of her head in a soft loop while curls scraggled down her cheeks and neck. The freckles across the bridge of her nose hadn't disappeared and neither had that heart-shaped birthmark on her neck. Of course his eyes went there. Why the hell wouldn't they?

She was barefooted, her toes were painted green. Green? Well-worn, frequently bleached jeans with ragged holes in a leg and at the knee hugged her compact body and an equally ragged white tank top exposed sweet female curvature and cleavage. Damn. He was still a sucker for that cleavage. He'd forgotten. How could he have forgotten that? It was, quite literally, like looking at a page out of time a couple of decades later than it'd been the last time he'd stood on this porch.

She smiled at him, shook her head and turned around. She released her hold on the dog's collar and walked back through the door she had just come through. Diesel resumed his aggressive posture, barking and snarling to a louder degree than before. Those were large and unfriendly looking teeth in that dog's mouth, Sam decided.

"Amanda!" he yelled, thinking she could hear him over the barking. "Hey, Mandy! Can we talk? Can you take care of this . . . dog?"

She allowed the dog to continue to provide the barrier between the porch and the house for another minute before she came back.

"Diesel! Dead dog!"

Like magic, the dog sat down peaceably and was silent.

She stood behind the dog and put a fist on each hip. "What do you want?"

Damn. The woman was cute.

"Can I come in? Can we talk?" Sam wondered, glancing between her and the dog.

She laughed. "Weren't you just here . . . twenty . . . ah, twenty-nine years ago?"

"Is that how long it's been? Gee."

Nothing had changed. The woman still had no sense of humor.

"What do you want, Sam?"

He was getting the feeling that he was not going to be allowed inside, so he decided he'd better say what he needed to say and get it over with now. "A divorce?"

She looked at him, laughed, then turned at the sound of a door at the opposite end of the house.

"Ma! You drove the truck! Dammit, I can't fix that tire now. I'm going to have to replace it."

The voice came from behind her. The dog turned around and wagged its enormous body across the room to jump on a man, who, had Sam been looking in a mirror 30 years ago, would have been his double. Six one, maybe two, he was broad shouldered, leanly muscled, and had long legs, brown hair, a square jaw and . . . dimples. Yeah, a mirrored image.

"Deecey, old buddy." The dog jumped up, put its paws on the kid's shoulders, and licked his face while the kid petted him and roughed his fur. But the kid wasn't a kid. He was a full grown man. "Diesel. Down."

"Ma? Did you hear me? Why'd you drive the truck? That tire's flat, and that was the spare." He entered the room then stopped when he realized there was someone at the door.

Amanda spoke to him. "I had to pick up the kids, and the Jeep was out of gas. You're welcome."

Then she opened the door. "Well, the cat's out of the bag now. Come on in, Sam, and meet your son."

It was the most surreal moment of his life. "My son."

"Yup." Amanda acknowledged. "Your son."

The kid pushed the dog down, walked around his mother and extended his hand. "Sam Axe."

Sam smiled. "You or me? This could get confusing."

"Not at all," the younger Sam said after he shook his father's hand. He turned around as if to leave then spun back and let his fist fly. It was a vicious punch, and it knocked Sam the senior on his butt. For a moment, he was sure he saw stars. The last person who had punched him this hard had been a much younger, and very angry Michael Westen.

He turned back to his mother. "Told you."

"I remember."

They changed topics as if Sam wasn't there, sitting on his butt on the floor by the front door.

"Ma, how can you be out of gas? I replaced that gauge. Dammit."

"Bad gauge or bad planning. Sue me. How'd you get here?"

"I ran."

He turned, stuck his hands on his hips and looked down at the man on the floor. "How'd you get here?"

"I drove. In a car."

"Where are the keys?"

Sam stood somewhat unsteadily, held his jaw and licked at his split lip. "In my pocket."

"Let's have 'em. You ought to be good for something at least once in your miserable life."

Sam handed his keys to his son and watched as he flew down the steps out the front door, climbed into his Cadillac and disappeared down the drive and over a hill.

He turned back to Amanda. To the question on his face, she smirked. "Don't worry, he'll bring your car back. He won't disappear for 29 years. He'll be back as soon as he gets his wife out of the hospital and some gas for my Jeep. He's responsible like that."

Sam ignored the verbal slap. "He's married?"

"Yup. Six years now. They have two boys and are hoping for a girl if she can get through this pregnancy okay."

"Two boys," he said dully.

"Yup. Two." She paused for moment. "Grandpa." It wasn't warm; it wasn't a compliment; it was just a fact.

Sam continued to rub his jaw. "What does he do?"

"Count yourself lucky he didn't kill you. He teaches kuk sool won."

"Ah, okay. Anything else?"

She ignored that. "Before he gets back and you have to leave, what do you want?"

Sam looked down; it would best to get this over with fast. "A divorce."

She looked at him, shook her head, as if she felt sorry for him and laughed. "I heard you the first time you said that. Uhmm. No." She laughed again as if he was the most amusing person on the planet and held the door open so he could leave. "You can wait on the porch until he gets back."

With that she turned, closed the screen door, left the room and gave the dog an instruction. "Diesel. Watch."

"You don't want a divorce?" Sam yelled after her.

"No."

"Why not?"

"What for? I'm fine."

"But I want to . . . "

She turned around and came back to stand behind her growling dog. "You want to do what?"

"Ah . . . ask . . . ah, ask you why you said no."

She pinned him in his place. "Liar."

She looked down to her dog once more. "Watch, Diesel. Good dog."

And the dog did.

Sam stepped away from the front door and sat down on the front porch step nursing the lump on his jaw. He used his tongue to feel around inside his mouth. The kid might have loosened a couple of teeth, too.

The dog took a sentry position at the door and emitted a low, rumbling growl from time to time.

When his phone rang, he pulled it from his pocket. It was Fiona.

"Hey, Fi. So, how you doing? How's the kid?" he asked.

"Fine. How are you doing?" she wondered.

"Okay. I think. Maybe."

"When are you coming back? Tomorrow?"

"Uh, no. Not tomorrow."

"Are you okay, Sam? You sound funny."

"Oh, well, I suppose. Just met my kid. He slugged me."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"How's Amanda?"

"I don't really know . . . yet. Maybe. Hmm, disagreeable, I guess."

"Let us know when you're coming home."

"Yeah. I will."

Fiona closed phone and looked at Dani. "He just met his son."

"He's in shock then," Dani said.

Fiona laughed. "He said he slugged him."

"Can't really blame him."

"No," Fiona agreed. "I can't, either."

"I don't think we can help him now."

"No, we can't."

After Sam announced his plan to locate Veronica and seek a divorce from the woman he'd been married to in name only for the past 30 some years, Jesse did some basic research and located a very married Veronica in Tampa, and then he and Mike dug a little further and located Sam's wife and his son. A son, they guessed, Sam didn't acknowledge or he had no awareness of or, surely, he would have said something.

As a man who was about to become a father himself, Jesse found he, personally, just hit a wall when it came to Sam Axe. He decided the man had abandoned his son.

Jesse knew something about that, and Mike agreed although his experiences with an abusive father were different. They'd decided, after Sam told them his plans and they'd done their homework, that if Sam needed their help with anything, he'd have to have a pretty good reason for them to help him. Other than that, it was hands off Sam's personal life.

Fi and Dani already agreed they'd keep the lines of communication open but Michael and Jesse had officially removed themselves from all communications during Sam's trip back to North Carolina, where they discovered he owned a house, the house his wife lived in.

Their good friend, the man they could always rely on, the man who had saved their lives countless times, the man they'd give up their own lives for if need be . . . was on his own.

He had a wife. He had a son. He had grandsons. He'd have to figure out what to do with his 30 year old mistake.

Fiona and Dani already shared an opinion, but Michael and Jesse weren't sure they could agree.

"She's still in love with him," Dani said.

Fi agreed wholeheartedly. "You don't go it alone unless you can't love anyone else."

Michael studied Fiona's face and closed his eyes; he'd made amends, but the knowledge of the hurt he'd caused her for so long could still sneak up and surprise him.

But Fiona hadn't noticed his lapse into their past. "And Madeline remembers a lot from when his friend Mack was here because he was staying with her then," she said. "As he was leaving he told Sam that Amanda left him, too. Mack told him she'd never gotten over Sam. So, something happened that made her be with Mack, and then she left him. I don't think it's a mystery at all. I wonder what his son looks like?"

"Probably like Sam," Michael guessed.

"Oh, yeah," Jesse said. "I did find a picture." He went into the home office and brought back a print.

"Change the uniform . . . and it's Sam 30 years ago," Michael said.

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Except for his blue eyes, Sam Axe, who didn't use the junior because there was no reason to use the junior, was a near perfect replica of his father.

That was the elder Axe's unsettling appraisal as his son returned his car around 10 p.m. He'd driven it around back, apparently to unload a gas can, and then brought it back to the front of the house.

Sam was still sitting on the porch, still being guarded from entry by the demon named Diesel. He'd seen that type of dog before so it only took a couple of minutes of battery time to verify that on his phone. A Great Pyrenees mountain dog. Extra set of dew claws so he could climb rocky terrain. Might be a nice dog, Sam thought, if it'd stop growling at him.

The kid pitched the keys toward him. "Here you go, old man."

Sam caught them mid-air as his son walked straight past him, into the house and shut the door behind him. He heard the door latch. He heard voices inside, then a few moments later he heard a Jeep roar to life, and watched it as it left the driveway and turn right by the mailbox. Apparently, the kid didn't live that far away.

Amanda had been inside the entire time he'd waited, about four hours. She'd had a meal, because he'd smelled chicken. She'd done dishes because he heard the sounds of water and clinking glassware. He heard the phone ring. She talked to someone. There was a TV on somewhere inside. By the time his son returned the car, the evening had faded to dark and the mosquitoes were out.

As a Miami resident, he was familiar with the insect, but the Carolina mountain variety were hardier, bigger and more vicious. He'd been slapping and swatting and scratching for the better part of almost four hours.

He had to decide what he'd do next.

So far he hadn't thought of a single thing that wasn't going to get him laughed at, ignored or slugged. He walked down to the car and slid inside, started it and drove back to town. He'd need a hotel room, and he hoped someone in town might be a tad more hospitable than . . . his family.

But it wasn't until he was ready to go up to his room that a heavenly light illuminated a ray of hope on his problem.

A light blinked on and a soft musical chime repeated itself several times. It was right there in the front seat of his Caddy. He reached for it. It was a cell phone with a pink cover and white daisies all over it.

He picked it up and looked at the face on the screen. A photo popped up-of a smiling Sam Axe the younger in desert camo. The image was blinking at him; he was calling his wife . . . and his son's wife's phone was in Sam's Caddy.

That, Sam realized, made her his . . . daughter-in-law. Wow.

Now, the problem of why he needed to return was just resolved. She, whoever she was, would need her phone back. But it was his treasure now.

Sam retrieved his bag, went into his room and turned on a light, used the bathroom, washed his hands and retuned to the phone. He scrolled to photos and there . . . was a family history.

His family.

Photo after photo after photo after photo. After photo.

He didn't use a phone in the way this young woman did because it was dangerous. Neither did Mike, Fi, Jesse, Dani . . . no one in their circle of friends. But this woman's phone was personal, private. There were no passwords protecting her email. It seemed her name was Zoe, if the email address accurately reflected her name.

Thanks to the phone that had been left in his car, either accidentally or on purpose, his son's life just became an open book. And so did Amanda's life.

If he'd been thinking, he might have gone out to get something to eat, or certainly something to drink . . . a beer at least. But he couldn't.

This phone had a magnetizing power and he couldn't look away.

The photos started with a wedding . . . theirs. Apparently, Amanda had been her son's best man. There was a cake. Lots of photos of a very pretty cake. The wedding was held in someone's back yard, between rose bushes . . . and what was that bush called? He stretched and searched his memory. Viburnum. It was beautiful.

Then there were the husband pictures . . . young love. And true love, it looked like. Honeymoon pictures on a beach, the Outer Banks maybe.

Later, pictures of a baby belly, of his son kissing his wife's belly, more pictures with the two of them sitting together on a hospital bed, a baby between them. Then a video of Amanda holding a swaddled baby, a tear running down her cheek. Another video of a child learning to crawl, then climbing stairs and trying to throw a ball. Splashing in a kiddy pool. Eating birthday cake while in the background mom is obviously pregnant again, holding her baby belly. A picture of Sam with two babies sleeping on his chest, one newborn, one a year old. Another with him in uniform. Another by a plane.

His kid was a captain in the North Carolina National Guard. Damn. Then there were the downloaded photos on the phone. Yeah, he'd seen action in Iraq . . . and . . .

He realized he couldn't lose any of this and he had his laptop with him so he could download everything to it, but he'd need an adaptor. And, he'd need to charge the phone which is how he found himself in the electronics section of a 24-hour Wal-Mart at 2 a.m.

It'd taken a few minutes to round up a sleepy looking clerk who couldn't help him because they didn't have the adaptor he needed. When he spotted a similar phone in a locked display unit he finally negotiated buying the phone and the charger and adaptor, but the only place he could check out was near the entrance/exit, and the clerk had to carry the phone up to the cashier.

The clerk checking him out probably doubled as security, Sam realized. He was a mountain-sized man with stark white hair pulled back and tied at the nape of his neck. He was fit, trim and his Wal-Mart vest barely fit a cross his broad chest.

Two hundred and ten dollars later, Sam had what he wanted, but the clerk held onto the receipt when he handed it to him. Sam glanced up when he couldn't tug it away from the clerk.

"You look real familiar," the man said.

"Thanks," Sam said, giving the receipt another tug.

"You Sam Axe's daddy?"

Sam looked at the credit card receipt in his hand, saw his scrawled signature and really couldn't deny it, but he had a feeling admitting the obvious would open a can of worms. What the hell. He wasn't doing anything else except opening worm can after worm can.

"Yeah," he answered warily.

The clerk released the receipt and stuck out his hand. "Then I'm pleased to meet you. I'm Sheldon Dunham. You probably don't know this, but we're related. By marriage."

"Related?" Sam said.

"Yeah. Your boy married my girl. We got a couple of grandsons. Say a prayer we get a granddaughter next. I get off in a couple of hours. Want to join me for breakfast? I'm guessing by that bruise, you've already met Sam."

Sam rubbed his jaw. "Yeah. His mother introduced us."

"That Amanda, she's a pistol."

Sam nodded. "Yeah."

"Well?"

"Okay," Sam said. "I could use some breakfast."

They agreed on a time and where to meet, and before Sam left with his purchase, he stopped him.

"Why are you here?"

Sam didn't pretend to misunderstand. "I wanted a divorce."

"She already told you no, didn't she?"

Sam just looked at him.

"See you at the restaurant."

The man smiled. Sam senior was in shock, and he had a pretty good idea why he was buying that phone. He'd talked to Zoe before he came to work tonight. He wondered if Sam realized what he'd said. He'd wanted a divorce. Past tense.

Now, what did he want?


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

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Sam watched his fellow father-in-law walk into the restaurant and greet people along the way. Sheldon Dunham appeared to be well known in these parts. Really well known.

He scanned the room and headed Sam's direction. He was being followed by a woman with a coffee pot. Sam had been here 15 minutes and had yet to garner a waitress' attention, something he normally had no problem with. Ever.

He was beginning to suspect, from the glances, peeks and stares being sent his direction that his face might be the problem.

"Mornin', Shel," the waitress said, pouring a cup of coffee before he sat down.

"Mornin', Sissy."

"Your regular?"

"Yeah, but get my friend's order, too."

Sam smiled. "Coffee, couple of eggs over easy and toast, any kind."

The waitress left and returned with another coffee cup and poured.

"What's wrong with your daughter?" Sam asked. "If she's pregnant and in the hospital that doesn't sound good."

Sheldon smiled like a teacher pleased with a bright student. "You ask the right questions first. She's got a problem with her blood pressure and blood sugar. The doc wanted her there for a 24 hour visit to run some tests, so now she has to be real careful about a few things like what she eats, not getting too tired."

Sam nodded. "I have a friend who's pregnant now and she's got the blood pressure problem, too. It's a worry."

That earned him a hard stare until Sam realized what he'd said was open to misinterpretation.

"Oh, no," he laughed at himself. "She's married to another friend and he's what I'd call real territorial. I also have another friend and his wife who just had a baby, so . . . I've heard a lot about that kind of thing lately."

He stopped talking when their breakfasts arrived, and would have dug in except Sheldon stopped and said a prayer over his food before eating.

When he picked up his fork, he winked at Sam. "So how long you here for?"

If Sam had any idea on how to answer that, he would have told him. Other than Mike and Fi's baby's baptism in a couple of weeks, he'd had no plans, literally, none, for the rest of his life except for being a friend, a brother in arms, and Uncle Sam.

The last twenty-four hours changed that. It wasn't about the divorce now.

Learning he had a son yesterday had stolen the wind from his sails, drained the air from his tanks. Learning he had grandsons laid him out flat. He was dead in the water, without a rudder or wind. He wondered if it showed and hoped it didn't.

"I'm not sure."

Sheldon was enjoying his grits, sausage gravy and biscuits. "Bet it came as a shock to you to find out about Sam. Probably will take a while to adjust to that."

That had Sam's instant attention. He responded defensively. "I didn't know."

Sheldon kept on eating. "I know. She tried to find you but the Navy wasn't real cooperative because she'd never been listed as a spouse. It made her mad."

He thought back to why that'd happened and frowned. "How long have you known Amanda?"

"Most of my life. We went to school together as kids. I left, went to the Army. She stayed and was still here when I got back with Zoe. My wife left me. We kind drifted together because of our circumstances and kids, but had the common sense by that time not to let anything too personal interfere with our friendship."

Sam looked up then. That was good to know, but it wasn't something he wanted to think about now.

"Where you staying?"

Sam told him.

"I have a cabin a little way down the road from Sam and Zoe. Looks like Zoe will need a lot more rest and I could use some help watching the grandboys. Why don't you bunk in with me while you're here? I'd like the company and it'll be a good way for you get to know the kids. But let me tell you, those boys will wear you out. Jacob's five and Noah's four. They move like heat lightning."

He couldn't believe the man's generosity, so different from the welcome he'd had last night. Then, he'd been looking to end that marriage on paper only, but everything looked different after he'd been here fifteen minutes.

"I'd like that, Sheldon. I'd like that very much. Thank you for the invitation."

"That's good, cause Zoe's bringing them by this morning, and I need to sleep. He removed a pen from his shirt pocket and drew on a napkin. "Here. I figure a SEAL can read a map."

Sam looked at it and smiled. "Cartographer?"

"Army Special Forces. And bring Zoe's phone. She said she left it in your car."

Sam laughed. "Yeah, she did."

"You get everything off it you wanted?"

"You know I did." Sam laughed again. It was good to find a friend far from home.

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Sheldon's log cabin was not of the rustic variety. His was a cabin that belonged on the pages of _Architectural Digest_. The timbered glass wall that looked across the Blue Ridge Mountains spanned the front of the house for a western view.

The structure was so big, it looked like a hotel instead of a private residence, but the imposing presence might be how it was situated on the site.

Sam pulled up behind Sheldon's truck and got out. He'd been waiting for him. "Why are you working at Wal-Mart?"

"Research."

"Research?"

"Yeah. I used to design software, now I do consumer research and I like the up close and personal touch. Doesn't get much more up close and personal than a Wal-Mart."

Sam had only been inside the house for a few moments and was about to take Sheldon's guided tour of the three levels in the residence when a little whirlwind breezed through the front door.

"Where's Sammy's daddy?"

Zoe Axe was all of five feet tall and maybe, maybe a hundred pounds. She was Fiona-sized. She had long dark hair that bounced around in a ponytail, hazel eyes framed by long dark lashes, dimples and a killer bright smile. And, she was as pregnant as pregnant could be without delivering a child.

"Ooooh, finally. This is so good," she said, introducing herself. "I'm Zoe, and you're the man I've been wanting to meet since I was a kid."

"Sam Axe," Sam said, "but that probably sounds redundant to you."

She laughed. It was a delightful musical sound. This was a much warmer greeting than the one he'd received last night from the wife he had and the son he didn't know he had. This girl was like sunshine in a cup stuffed full of goodwill and smiles.

"Isn't that just a great name? Ooh, I just knew Sammy was going to age well, too, and look at you." She patted Sam's flat, hard stomach. "I bet you still work out." She paused and assessed, "And I bet the women follow you around, too. I mean if it happens to Sammy, I bet it happens to you, too."

Sam laughed at that. "Not lately."

"And there's the other half of the family dimples," she patted his cheek. "The problem is we're having a girl and I just don't think dimples look good on girls. Boys, yes, girls, no."

Sam was enchanted. He couldn't stop smiling. "They look fine on you."

"Aren't you nice to say so? Well, come on, come meet your grandsons. Daddy's going to need to sleep."

"When's the baby due?" Sam wondered.

"Five or six weeks or _forever_, whichever comes first."

"I'm sorry you're having troubles," Sam said.

"Thank you. Aren't you just the sweetest man? By the way, do you have my phone?"

Sam fished it out of his pocket and handed it to her. She took it then reached up and pulled his head down to give him a kiss on his cheek then winked at him. "Thanks for taking such good care of it."

He followed her to the front door where Sam was unloading bicycles from the rear end of a SUV and two small, hyperactive boys were jumping up and down.

"Helmets, guys," he was saying as he handed each boy a bike helmet.

"Aw, Dad," one of them said.

"Come on, boys, protect those brains. I wear a helmet."

"But you have a real helmet."

"Boys, come here," Zoe called. "Come meet your Grandpa Sam."

The younger Sam looked up, saw his wife and frowned when he saw his father. But he didn't look surprised, Sam thought, looking down to see two small, dark headed, dimpled scamps with green eyes full of mischief. They looked up at him until he knelt down to their level.

"Hi," he said. "Who are you?"

"I'm Jacob, sir." Sam stuck out his hand to shake. The boy turned around to check with his father.

"Go ahead. Be a gentleman."

He reached out a small sturdy, sticky hand and put it in Sam's and shook. "Nice to meet you, sir."

"And it's nice to meet you, too, Jacob."

The younger boy had been studying him. Sam turned to him and smiled. "I bet your name is Noah."

He nodded. Sam could see this little tough kid wasn't about to trust his hand to anyone. He had two little fists stuck firmly in his jeans pockets.

"Yup."

"Noah. That's a good name," Sam said. "Do you know about Noah who built the ark?"

The boy nodded, his eyes wary but interested. "It was a really big ship."

"It was. It had to be to hold all those animals. Noah was sailor, and me, too. I was a sailor."

"Are you really my grandpa?"

"I'm pretty sure. Is that okay with you?"

"Where you been?"

Sam decided to take the easy way out. "I've been to lots of places, but mostly I've been to Florida."

"Daddy's been to Iwak."

"Me, too. It's a scary place."

"Okay. Do you ride bikes?"

Sam looked across at the small contraptions. "No, I don't think so."

"Then what can you do?" Jacob asked.

Sam searched his memory. What the heck did a grandfather do? Then he remembered his grandfather. "I can play checkers. Can you?"

"Do you play other games?" Noah asked.

"Ah . . ." Sam felt a bit helpless, but Zoe helped him out.

"He means video games."

"Oh, well, no. I've never played a video game."

"Good," Jacob said. "Grandpa's got a Wii. We'll teach you."

"Sounds like a good deal," Sam said.

Zoe leaned over and kissed Sam's cheek. "You'll do fine. The boys will show you where it's at. We'll see you later."

Sam the younger looked at his wife and shook his head. Just as he helped her get into the SUV, Sam heard his son mumble "meddler." And she laughed.

#

#

#

Nine hours later, Sam was wiped out.

He might have learned to play Mario something on a Wii, but he positively learned his grandsons were small genius wizards with electronic games.

He'd told rhyming jokes and made them laugh. He remembered two clean knock-knock jokes and shared them, and then listened to them repeated over and over for the next hour.

He'd answered lots of questions about where he'd been and why he was wearing flowers on his shirt, and why he didn't wear boots like their dad and their regular Grandpa.

_Regular Grandpa._ The phrase gave him pause when Jacob said it.

He'd assisted with one bathroom crisis and located toilet paper when there didn't appear to be any available, then supervised hand washing.

He'd fixed snacks and lunches and cleaned up spilled milk, all with the oversight of two people not quite three feet tall. He had them pick up their messes and clean behind themselves.

He'd negotiated a peaceful truce in a couple of loud disagreements.

He'd watched and clapped for bike riding, and discussed the value of training wheels with Noah who wanted his removed and didn't think it was fair that his dad said they had to stay on his bike.

By five, Sheldon was up and checking on Sam's first official day of grandfatherhood. He grinned when he saw Sam's disheveled state.

"Good day?" he asked Sam.

Sam smiled. "Good day."

"Give me a few minutes, and I'll make us up some supper," he offered. "They like watching Scooby-Doo about this time of day. It's on Channel 12."

Jacob took the remote control and turned on the TV and stood by a big leather recliner.

"Come on, Grandpa," he said. "You sit first."

"Okay," Sam said. "Now what?"

_Now what_ was having two small boys who bore a strong family resemblance to himself crawl up in his lap, one on either side, inside his arms. They snuggled down, as if it as something they'd always done. Noah rested his head on Sam's chest and stuck his thumb in his mouth, and Jacob patted Sam's chest with his small hand while resting his head on his chest, too.

So Sam Axe, who had recently shed his boy toy status, who had left a career in the Navy by negotiating a disgraced exit he wasn't the least bit proud of, loyal friend and near brother to two formerly burned spies and their wives, and almost anyone's good drinking buddy, held his grandsons his arms.

He thought his heart might break.

That's when he remembered he had a question for Amanda.

And it wasn't about a divorce. It was about his son.

When in the hell was he born? And why didn't he know that?

#

#

#

Sam took his purchases to the checkout and waited in line. Tommy Bahama shirts worked in Miami, they didn't work in this part of the world. Evenings were cool at this elevation, winter, fall, spring or summer. He had jeans, shirts - none of which were plaid, thanks - socks, a jeans jacket, couple of t-shirts and he was set. It'd been a long, long time since he'd dressed this way.

He planned to make his grandsons happy with his next shopping stop where he was going to buy a pair of boots.

He'd taken care of the boys four days this week, but it was Saturday and his son Sam would be home with them today. He'd talked to Zoe enough to know she hoped their baby girl would arrive ahead of schedule, because she admitted she wasn't very good at sitting still.

And that sweet girl thanked him for his help, like it had been something difficult to do to take care of his grandsons.

During the week, he'd also learned she was a business partner with Amanda. A to Z Cakery specialized in wedding and special occasion cakes. That accounted for all the photos on Zoe's phone of the beautiful wedding cake.

He'd spotted the cake business as he drove by this morning, but he wasn't quite ready to talk to her again. Looked like there were lights on inside. Didn't matter. Currently he was debating what he wanted to do next about Amanda.

It might have been that there wasn't a large body of water anywhere near here, but he was fairly certain that wasn't why he still felt like a fish out of water. This had all started because he thought he needed to be connected to someone the way Michael clung to Fi or the way Jesse seemed awed that Dani loved him.

Yeah, he was going to see Veronica but once he started thinking about what he'd left here, he decided it was best to finish this chapter in his life before he started a new book. That's what tripped him up with Ronnie the last time.

Or maybe what tripped him up was the fact that Ronnie looked a lot like Amanda. Crap. He hadn't figured that aspect of it until he saw Mandy again.

Unfortunately, he was getting a clear indication of a thirty-year betrayal, and the more time he spent here, the more his anger simmered. He hadn't recognized his own personal, long and slow burning peat fire until now.

He hardly recognized himself.

Calling Miami last night helped him feel like his life wasn't upside down, if only for a few moments.

He'd talked to Fiona, Dani and Maddie as they passed a phone around. He'd lucked out. They were all at Maddie's house and they'd just finished a dinner that Doug had prepared.

Fiona sounded relaxed and mellow. She was enjoying having Michael back, and enjoying the fact that Raines insisted he stay on medical leave because it was taking both of them to deal with Gabe's sleeping hours or lack thereof.

Dani sounded tired, and she was also still on medical leave. She was spending her time the same way as Zoe, resting, following doctor's orders. She was also watching Jesse assemble baby furniture, some of which required re-assembly when he got something wrong. "He's good with gadgets," Dani said, laughing, "but changing tables give him trouble."

And Maddie could only agree with Sam, that having two grandsons was about the best thing she could think of. He swapped Jacob and Noah stories for some new Charlie stories and they laughed about the witty things kids said.

But, it was Fiona who pushed Sam's magic hot button. He didn't think she meant to, but he couldn't help himself. Sam didn't get irritated often, but, on this subject, he didn't know how to tamp it down, but he tried.

"Sam," she asked, "did you know you had a son before you went there?"

"No."

"Have you talked to Amanda about that?"

"Not yet."

She didn't reply to that, as if she was reading his attitude and didn't want to stir up anything more than she had.

"We miss you, Sam."

"I miss you guys, too, but I can't . . . make it to Gabe's baptism. I'm sorry, Fiona. I need to stay and be a grandpa right now."

"We know. Come back when you're ready," Fi said. "Or we'll come visit you if you want. Okay?"

"Sure, Fi."

When Fiona closed her phone she scanned the room full of faces.

"I've _never_ heard him sound like that. He didn't know he had a son until he got there."

She glanced over at Michael and Jesse. "You two need to cut him some slack and talk to him next time he calls."

Maddie agreed. "You know, the idea that Sam would abandon a son doesn't even fit with anything I know about him. It's funny, though. When Mack was here, he never said a thing about Sam having a son. He just talked about . . . Amanda." Her voice faded away, as she thought back.

"I need to call him anyway," Michael said. "I owe him a lot. A whole lot."

#

#

#

When Sam arrived in Houston, he fit right in with his jeans, boots and shirt, for a few minutes at least. He didn't have the hat.

He called Mack from the airport and asked if they could meet.

Mack was a step ahead of him. "Not necessary, Sam. Amanda already called me. She figured you'd either show up or call."

"Should I guess what she called about or do you just want to tell me?"

"It's about your kid," Mac said.

"Yeah."

"Hell, never mind. I can't do this over the phone. Where you at?"

He hadn't left the airport, and told him where to find him.

"I'm close. I'll see you in 30 minutes."

Sam raised his hand and motioned to Mack when he saw him standing in the artificially dim doorway to the bar.

There was a cold beer waiting on Mack's side of the table. Sam had water with a lime slice.

Sam didn't say a word. He just stared at Mack and waited.

"All right, all right. She called, she wanted to know if the two of us had seen each other since we ah, she and I, you know, split."

Sam continued the stare-down.

"So I said, yeah, you and your friends helped me find a felon and saved my job and kept a lot of bad guys from taking a walk a couple of years ago." Mack looked down to his hands. "And she wanted to know if we talked about her."

He tilted his head and continued staring at Mack.

"Okay, okay. It was like this. After that mission in Thailand, we all went home at the same time but you didn't make it back. Last time I saw you, you were going into some bar with woman in San Francisco instead of heading home. So I was back for about a month and ran into Amanda, and she was asking me all these questions about you, when I saw you last, where you were, who you were with. So . . . I told her, just what I told you. Anyway," Mack continued, "I ended up getting out on a disability and when I went back home six months later, she was still waiting for you. But she was waiting for you in bars. Hanging out. Hell, everybody did that then.

"That house? Her dad's place? Well, he kicked her out and kept the boy with him. Told her not to come home until she was ready to be a momma and behave herself. I ran into her and, you know, one thing led to another and I asked her to move in. She did . . . and then you came back, what two or two and half years after you left? You know what happened next. Anyway, one morning she was just gone, and then I left, too."

"You _knew_ she had a kid. My kid."

"Yeah." Mack hung his head. "I did. I figured you did, too. I didn't figure out that was a problem until she called me two days ago or I would have told you in Miami. You gotta believe me, Sam. I wouldn't lie to you about that."

"How did she know how to find you?"

"My mom still lives there. She called her."

Sam just looked down at the table top and thumped his fingers. "Yeah, I remember that time. Went from Teheran to El Salvador then back to Germany, Libya and then Lebanon. There wasn't much down time for a few of us. Tried calling her when I got to El Salvador and then again Germany but she wasn't there, and who in hell had an answering machine then, huh? The woman in San Francisco? CIA contact. I went from there to Teheran within the hour."

#

#

#

The house key still opened doors.

Sam went prepared and learned Diesel was easily managed with bacon. Most dogs were. Turned out, Diesel liked being scratched behind his ears and on his chest.

He'd made himself at home. And why not? He could. He'd checked. If his name was on the mailbox on the property title, he could be here.

Years ago, he'd purchased it for his father-in-law who was about to lose it in a tax sale.

The house had been in her family for almost a century, and Sam had just lost his parents in house fire. As their sole survivor, he'd come home on a leave to visit their graves and collect a check from the lawyer who handled their estate. The fire had destroyed everything of his childhood home. There was literally nothing left of his life, no family, no mementos, no photos, no nothing that preceded the moment.

He and Amanda had been married several months then, so when he came back he used the inheritance dollars to purchase her childhood home in a tax sale. Amanda's father insisted he put the house in his name, because it'd save a lot of probate trouble for them later, after his death.

Sam didn't know when her father died, he didn't know anything that had happened in the intervening years until his trip here.

At least she'd paid the taxes all these years, and maintained it, too. The place looked good. He'd taken time to check every room, look at what she'd done inside. He liked visiting Sam's boyhood bedroom. It looked like Jacob and Noah bunked in there now.

He figured out her fancy coffee pot and made coffee and sat in the kitchen and waited for her to come home. He didn't know where she was, but he wasn't leaving until he had some answers. And, he might just stick around for a while to piss her off.

Surely, she had to come back and feed her dog.

It was around nine when he heard her truck pull into the drive, saw the lights flash across the garage and the door lift engage. A few moments later she opened back door and saw him. It shouldn't have been a surprise. It was the only light on in a dark house.

"How'd you get in?"

"Key."

"You still have that?"

"You never changed the lock."

She dropped a purse and tote bag on the table, looked at her dog and frowned. He was sitting under Sam's feet. Diesel wagged his tail and kept his head down.

"Some guard dog you are, mutt. Why are you here, Sam?"

"You know."

"Do I?" When her voice elevated that's when he heard offense turn into defense.

"Yeah, you do. I talked to Mack. Cleared up some murky memories."

He watched as she nervously moved her tote bag to the counter and started removing food containers and stashing them in the refrigerator.

"What? You don't have something cutting to say like you did when I got here? Like something's my fault? Like I owe you an apology for something? Like I owe you _anything_?"

She shook her head and looked away.

"Why'd do it, Amanda?" Sam tried for calm and rational; he was anything but. He felt his stomach clench.

She turned and looked at him and then dropped her eyes to look down at her hands. "I figured misdirecting might buy me some time to figure out what to do next."

"Did you figure it out?"

She shook her head no. "Did you ever make a mistake, Sam? I mean a really, really, really big, bad mistake?"

He crossed his arms over his chest. "Hell, yes. Got myself kicked out of the Navy for one them."

That surprised her. "You love the Navy."

"Yeah, well, I loved you, too, but that wasn't worth a hell of lot, was it? Hey, that's neither here or there. What I really want to know is . . . if Mack could find me in Miami, and you could find Mack in Houston, why didn't you find a way to get in touch with me? And tell me I had a son?"

She held up her hands in supplication. "I'm sorry, Sam. I'm so sorry."

"You damned well should be!" he yelled, surprising himself when he did so. "Hell of thing to meet your kid when he's full grown man. A father. There's a privilege I would have liked to have known I had. What'd you tell him about me anyway?"

"Almost nothing." She moved closer and put her hands on his arms. Those beautiful blue eyes of hers were leaking tears and he felt not one iota of remorse for that.

"That worked well. He's got a hell of a right. And you've got a hell of nerve, Mandy. Give me crap about a divorce, like you'd want to stay married on a piece of paper? Hey, is adultery still grounds for a divorce in this state?"

"Actually no."

"You checked? Of course you checked."

She turned away from him then and dropped her chin to her chest. "I always knew this would happen."

"What?" Sam yelled. "What would happen?"

Her voice was quiet. "You'd come back and you'd want a divorce."

"Yeah, well . . . " Sam took a deep breath and walked the opposite direction from her until they were two combatants taking a time out on opposite sides of the room. "I don't know what I want anymore."

He heard her take a deep breath. "I owe you an apology. I do. I'm sorry, Sam. I'm so, so sorry."

He turned back to her. "I take it back. I do know what I want. I want to have a son who doesn't think I'm some kind of bastard who abandoned his loving wife . . . when. . . when . . ."

She had tears rolling down her cheeks now. "I was young, I was stupid . . . Sam, I'm sorry."

"And here I thought I left because my devoted wife was sleeping with my friend. That doesn't even matter now because I thought I understood betrayal but I didn't get the full load until you introduced me to Sam . . . dammit. Dammit!"

She walked up to him, grabbed his arms and held on. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I . . . I don't know what else to say except I loved you, I hurt you and I'm sorry."

Sam scoffed then laughed. "That's good one, Amanda. I have heard some talented liars tell some incredible tales but that one . . . yeah. Good one."

She pushed at him, hard.

"Why do you think I named him Sam? I couldn't even find where in the hell you were in the world to tell you! Know when he was born? On your birthday. _Your birthday, Sam!_ And then to watch him grow, looking more like you every day? I figured it was the perfect punishment, a constant reminder of how stupid I was. Thank God, he doesn't know I almost threw him away, too. And I thank God for my dad, for what he did. I couldn't have you, but I could have your son. When I got my head straight, I tried to do a good job . . . I did the best I could."

Sam felt like he'd been slugged. He shook his head no, no, no until she reached up put her hands on either side of his face and pulled his mouth down to hers. "I'm so sorry, Sam. Please believe me."

A couple of heartbeats later, Sam pushed her away and held her at arm's length and studied her. "That trick doesn't work any more."

She closed her eyes and tears leaked down her cheeks.

That's when a knock sounded at the open screen door at the back of the room. They turned and looked and stepped away from each other.

It was Sam. And from the look on his face, he'd heard it all. Every last ugly word.

He looked at his mother, then Sam.

"Mom . . . Dad . . . Zoe's in the hospital. I couldn't get a hold of you earlier. I thought you'd want to know . . . and I need help with the boys tomorrow. Sheldon's at the house with them now."

Sam imagined the look of dismay on his son's face probably matched his own.

Amanda swiped her hands across her face to brush away the tears. "Is she all right?"

"Yeah, for now, but they're saying she might have to have complete bed rest or stay in the hospital until the baby's born. We'll know more tomorrow."

Sam was answering his mother's questions, but looking straight at his father. He stepped across the room and extended his hand. "I'm sorry I hit you, sir."

Sam took his son's hand and pulled him in an embrace. A few seconds later, they separated and Sam cleared his throat and glanced back at his mother. Amanda had her arms wrapped around herself and tears were washing over her face, down her chin, her neck.

"I'll . . . call you in the morning, Mom."

He looked at Sam one last time, turned and left. A few seconds later they heard his vehicle start. They'd been so involved they hadn't heard his arrival.

Amanda stared at him for a moment then lifted a thin gold chain with a gold ring from around her neck, dropped it in her palm and held it out for him. "You said . . ."

He knew what it was, and remembered what he'd done, what he'd said. He shook his head. "No, thanks. It's a useless piece of metal now, that's all it is."

Sam turned and looked down at Amanda. "I'm staying, so you better figure out where you're going to put me. And it won't be in your bedroom unless you move out."

When he left by the back door to walk outside, Diesel followed him.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

#

#

#

She wasn't at the Cakery, she wasn't at home, and she wasn't answering her phone. All he wanted to do was tell Amanda why he wasn't going to be at the house tonight.

He was beginning to think she was avoiding him.

As much as possible.

After the loud discussion witnessed by their son ended, he informed her that he was staying for a while, but he didn't know how long. He just got to meet his son and grandsons. He was about to have a granddaughter. He was staying.

"I'm not leaving so get used to it," he told her. They worked out some basic house rules, and agreed not to argue around Sam, Zoe or the boys. Basic courtesies were to be observed, but Sam decided Amanda hadn't been holding up her end of the bargain because there were long periods where she'd be out of contact or didn't answer her phone.

It was the area, she explained, with all the hills and valleys. Cell towers didn't pick up in some areas, but he'd yet to have that experience.

Her subtle rebellion was quite effective in annoying him.

Sam had just called and asked if he'd take the boys because he wanted to spend a longer time with Zoe at the hospital tonight. He wanted to let Amanda know.

Letting her know was holding up his end of the bargain.

Zoe was doing so much better, mostly because she wasn't doing anything. Anything but complaining about being confined, that was.

Sam had to grin, because he'd recently witnessed a lot of pregnancy complaining, first hand.

He'd heard the whole spectrum of Fi's loud, irrational, grouchy complaints just before Gabe was born. She'd been just fine up until the last three weeks, and then it'd been amusing to listen to her tell Mike it was all his fault she looked the way she did and felt the way she did. He'd laughed at her once and that had been a bad thing because she got all teary and sniffly and there had been nothing Mike could do or tell her that would make it better, nothing Mike could do to placate her. Nothing.

"I don't know if we're going to do this again," he'd told Sam, but Fiona overheard that remark and corrected him. "We are not going to have an only child, Michael. That's a terrible thing to do to a child." So, for the last few weeks of Fi's pregnancy, it didn't matter what anyone said. No words could soothe her until after Gabe was born. But Michael Gabriel's arrival was the ultimate glue that secured the bond that had been under construction for so many years. Watching Mike and Fi together with their infant son was beautiful, not that Sam would admit to using that word.

He wasn't sure when he'd turned into such a sucker for happy endings, but he had, and he was hoping for another for Dani and Jesse. Dani had a far more subdued personality than Fi; complaining wasn't her style. Despite her health issues, she made only minor comments about being tired, and it was almost, almost embarrassing to watch her and Jesse together, two perfectly polite adults who projected the deepest intimacy of their relationship when they were in the each other's presence. He couldn't look at them together without feeling he was invading the most private of moments between a man and a woman.

It was unnerving when he'd seen the same thing between Sam and his Zoe. The intimacy, the tender looks and small touches, as if the other person was the greatest gift they could imagine.

"You may not know this, but I've been in love with Sammy since I was four years old," Zoe had told him.

"That's a lifetime." Sam couldn't help but smile at some of the things she had to tell him.

It'd only been a few nights ago when he'd visited her in the hospital and she told him how she and Sam had grown up together, and had been each other's best friend as small kids.

"Then, when we were 13 and 15 we had a big fight and we didn't speak to each other for six years, and of course, we couldn't or wouldn't go to the same colleges. Then Sam started his National Guard stuff, I got a job as a restaurant manager for a hotel in Greensboro. "I was home visiting my dad, and Sammy came home to see Manda, and that's when it happened. I took one look at him and I just couldn't live with the idea that some other woman might end up getting my man," she told Sam and wrinkled her nose. "So I turned myself into a brazen hussy and it worked. We got married a month later."

Sam had to laugh. She'd followed up her story. "And if you repeat that story to anyone I'll call you a big fat liar. I promise I will."

"Zo, you keep telling people that story and you're going to have to call everyone you know a liar," her husband said from the doorway.

That was the same day Sam learned the only person allowed to call his son Sammy was his wife. Some nurse who knew him called him Sammy and he corrected her. "No one calls me that except my wife." That had been interesting, watching them in those few moments.

And speaking of wives, he had one. Sort of. Dammit, where was that woman?

Amanda was ignoring her phone or she'd turned it off again. Lately, if she didn't want to talk to him, that's what she did.

That was also beginning to bug him.

When he turned the corner, he spotted her truck parked a few doors away from her business, the one he'd never set foot inside.

He parked, got out and looked through the window between the painted letters of the Rosey Posey Tosey Spa sign. He pushed through the door and found her tilted back, eyes closed, feet in a footbath, her jeans rolled to her knees, in the last chair in a row of massage chairs filled with women of various shapes, sizes and ages.

"Amanda."

Her eyes blinked open and she looked up. "Yeah?"

"After dinner, I'm taking the boys for miniature golf and I'll put them to bed later. Sam's at the hospital with Zoe. Turn your damned phone back on."

She saluted him and he grimaced and walked out the door, completely unaware that an entire room full of feminine eyes followed his departure with a great deal of appreciation.

Rosalee looked over at her friend who'd opened her business the same time Amanda and Zoe opened the Cakery and fanned herself in an exaggerated motion. "Woooeee. You're stupid, girl."

Amanda sighed. "You won't get an argument from me."

"That is a lot of _man_. Sam looks just like him."

"Yup."

"Is he staying?"

"I don't know."

"What you going to do about that?"

Amanda closed her eyes again. "Say no again if he still wants a divorce."

"Like I said, you're _real stupid_."

"Like I said, no argument."

A long moment passed before Rosalee sighed. "I guess even us old broads can get it bad."

Several customers who'd been listening to their exchange nodded in agreement.

Amanda kept her eyes closed. "Yup."

"You better turn that phone on," Rosalee advised.

"Yes." Amanda opened her eyes and reached for her purse.

The woman in the chair next to her turned and looked at her. "I was in Sam's class in high school. Is that your husband?"

"Yes."

"Where's he been, if you don't mind me asking."

"Florida, he says."

"Are you . . . getting a divorce or something?"

"I have no idea," Amanda said.

#

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#

The problem with living in the same house as Amanda Axe was that he liked it, and he didn't want to because it was easier to be angry with her than admit she might have a rare good point.

He was staying upstairs. She moved a sewing machine and a few other things out of the spacious room at the top of the house and showed him the space without comment. It had windows at each gable end, but he had to be careful where his head was because the ceiling followed the broad slanted roof line.

He learned it'd been a remodeling project she and Sam had worked on one summer.

The attic had been cobbled together with interior partitions which, after determining none of them were structurally supporting any part of the roof, they removed to create one large open space. They cleaned, sanded and stained the old heart of pine floor. They repaired the side walls and ceiling and painted.

She told him when Sam was in high school, it had been a place where he and his friends played video games and watched rented movies.

When he graduated from college, she changed the space, and painted, added a queen size bed, a rocking chair next to a small table with a lamp by the window, a desk with a lamp and another chair. A long low cabinet against one wall worked for storage. A fan at the far east end of the gable provided ventilation or cooling.

He liked it.

In the morning, he could see out the windows on the west and look down the hillside as the mist lifted to reveal a corner of the roofline of Sam and Zoe's house, and farther beyond, a bit of the lower level of Sheldon's cabin.

It was dark, it was quiet and it was peaceful, and for as much as Sam loved Miami and access to a very large body of water, this was a homecoming of sorts. He'd left a long time ago and he'd forgotten things. Like how comfortingly dark it could be at night. Like the smell of morning after fog burned off. The sound of crickets and cicadas and tree frogs and doves cooing. Like the curve of her cheek against her neck, like how small her ears were. And that heart shaped birthmark. All things he'd forgotten.

What he didn't understand was why Amanda was killing him with kindness at the same time she was clearly demonstrating passive aggressive behavior.

She made bread nearly every day. Sometimes she took it with her, sometimes it stayed at home, and it was every bit as good as what he'd remembered.

After a week or so, clean sheets magically appeared on his bed. Dirty clothing he planned to launder himself left and returned washed and folded on the end of the bed.

There was always something good to eat in the refrigerator if he wanted it.

They didn't speak unless it was absolutely essential, but he'd catch the questions in her eyes and turn away. He was still angry, but being here and being able to talk to his son, his grandsons and his daughter-in-law was making it fade.

He was learning her daily routine was a lot like his, at least since he'd been here.

She woke without an alarm like he did and did exercises in her room. Sam kept up with his push ups and sit ups first thing every morning. After helping Mike get back in shape, it was an easy habit to keep up with.

He'd hear her shower and wait until he heard the bathroom vent fan go off and her bedroom door close before he used it. The problem with old houses like this was they often had only one bathroom, but they hadn't been in each other's way yet.

She might turn off her phone, but she left notes. "Doing deliveries until after 8 p.m."

It was Zoe who filled him in on what occupied Amanda's time.

The girl was chatty, but to stay alone in the hospital was so disheartening for her that they rarely left her by herself. The Axe/Dunham family developed a system while she was in the hospital. Sam or Sheldon would keep the boys during the day while their dad went to work, and whoever wasn't taking care of the boys went to spend the day with Zoe.

Because the cakery business was both Amanda's and Zoe's investment, Amanda was holding two jobs now since Zoe wasn't able to work. Sam knew Amanda visited the boys and Zoe, but she'd developed an ability to never be there at the same time he was.

_That_ was also beginning to bug him.

This morning Zoe was telling him how Amanda taught her to bake.

"Yeah, Amanda and Dad swapped. Dad took Sammy fishing and hunting, and Manda taught me how to bake," she said. "She started with muffins and cookies, and we moved on to pies. She made these gorgeous, gorgeous cakes. So she taught me that, too. She was my inspiration, really, before college, I mean. I got a business degree with the idea of going into foodservice, but then being married to Sammy interrupted that. When he was first deployed, she asked me to help her with the wedding cakes and we worked so well together that A to Z Cakery just grew out of that. It's a good business, but for now Manda's doing all the work."

Sam was nodding, not commenting, enjoying her chatter and then she zapped him with a question he was not expecting.

"Sammy overheard you and Manda arguing about him and your marriage, and I'm not . . . well, that's your business, and you don't have to answer my question, but . . . because I've seen it for so many years, I've always wondered why Amanda wears that ring on a chain around her neck. It's your wedding ring, isn't' it?"

"What does she say?" Sam wondered.

"Nothing. Not a thing. She never has."

Sam looked away from her. "You know, Zoe, that's really . . . just between her and me. I'm sure you and Sam have things like that, just between you two."

"We do." She stopped and put her hand on his arm. "I don't want you to get mad at me, but I really, really want to tell you something. Sammy says I should just stay out of everything, but I love Amanda and now that I know you, I love you, too, and I'm so happy you're here. And so is Sammy."

Sam glanced at her with the slightest hint of irritation. This didn't sound like a lead-in to anything he wanted to hear.

She grinned at him. "Sammy gives me that exact same look when he gets annoyed. He says I'm meddling, and maybe I am, but I need to tell you that I know she loves you. Amanda loves you. I could tell you all the reasons I think that's true, but if you don't want to believe them, you won't. Mostly, I don't want to lose you, now that you're here. And neither does Sammy."

#

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Later that night he joined Amanda in the living room at the front of the house where she was watching television. He picked up the remote and turned the TV off.

She didn't say a thing or make a comment, she just looked at him. She was curled up in the corner of the couch with a magazine on her lap, and he took the chair directly across from her. He crossed his hands on top of his stomach.

They'd had supper together, but the meal was eaten in silence. He started noticing she was eating less and less the longer he was here. Or maybe that was just when they were here at the same time and it was time to eat. He didn't speak during the meal, so maybe he was causing the problem.

"I was talking to Zoe today."

"That's always fun," she said.

"She said Sam would be upset with her for meddling, but she meddled anyway."

"She's always been good at that."

"She started by telling me how you taught her things in the kitchen, and how much she likes working with you, then she said she wasn't commenting that Sam overheard our argument, but she wondered why you wear my ring on that chain, and then she ended by telling . . . with an appraisal of our situation."

He chickened out. He couldn't say it.

"So what's her appraisal of our situation?"

"She says she loves both of us and doesn't want me to go away."

"So don't go away. You can have the house. It's yours. I can move some place else."

He ignored that even as he realized what she had just offered him. "I have friends who are like my family in Miami."

She swallowed hard. "I'm glad for you. I am. Family's important."

"Is that all you're going to say?"

She met his eyes briefly, frowned, then looked away. Then she stood up. Her voice was soft and quiet. "I don't know what to say to you, really. I could say I'm sorry again, but that didn't work so well the last time."

She walked to the front door and looked out for a few minutes then turned around and crossed her arms over her middle.

"Look, Sam, you've been gone a long time, so you're essentially new here, but I'm not. I've been wearing this damned big, invisible scarlet A on my chest for decades. But Zoe and I have a business we worked hard for, and . . . then you show up looking like yourself and now all these folks, mostly business people my age, who remember what happened back then are saying, oh, yeah, that's Sam's dad. Wow, so that's the guy she cheated on. It's not much . . . fun.

"I've gotten real, real good at humility. So, I'll keep my phone on, okay? But please, do me one favor and stay out of the spa. I can only handle so much of that stuff while you're here. I really don't know what to say beyond what I've said already. I can't change anything. You're right there, just a few feet away from me, but . . . we're a million miles apart, and probably always will be. If you want a divorce, it's yours. You don't have to see an attorney. I'll sign whatever you want."

She paused and took a deep breath. "I am sorry from the top of my head to the bottom of my feet for messing up your life, mine, Sam's . . . I know you're never going to be my . . . husband, not really, ever, for real, I just . . . "

She sighed and turned away from him. "I just need to go to bed now. I'm really tired."

Amanda walked to the bedroom adjacent to the living area and closed the door. Sam sat there and tried to figure out what just happened.

An invisible scarlet A for decades?

Then he remembered. This wasn't Miami, was it?

This was small town America where people lived in the same place most of their lives and had long memories and family history. He'd grown up not far from here in the same kind of place. He'd been away so long, he'd forgotten about that.

He leaned back into the chair and thought back on that pain-filled argument, and the thing she said that stuck in his memory . . . that Sam had been born on his birthday and she'd been glad because if _I couldn't have you, I could have your son. _She called it the perfect punishment.

Now that Zoe had planted the idea that Amanda still loved him, he had to decide what to do about that. Tonight, he watched her, listened to her . . . and believed it.

What the hell was he going to do now?

It was a lot easier sitting on the sidelines, assessing Mike and Fiona's relationship . . . or even figuring out why Dani had saved Jesse's life. That was messy, but it looked a whole lot messier when it was his life. Or his . . . wife.

Sam shut the front door and locked it. He went to the back door and let Diesel out for his last trip for doggie relief, then let him back in, shut and locked the door before taking the rear stairs to his room. The dog followed.

And . . . so did a thought. Amanda really was his . . . wife.

Apparently, she'd been up to the room sometime today because one of the small lamps had been left on. Sitting on the desk were a pile of books. Older, faded, plastic covered books. He opened the first one. Photo books.

After seeing the first page, he was compelled to open them in a hurry, one at a time, quickly scanning before he returned to the one that had been on top before taking them over to the rocking chair and turning on the lamp next to it.

There, page after page after page was his son's life. And, occasionally, Amanda's. The first one had the baby pictures, foot prints, a tiny hospital bracelet with his name and the birth date he shared with his son. There were lots of toddler photos before they stopped. That must have been when her father kept Sam and told her to leave, when she'd been with Mack. In the next photos, Sam was older, maybe three or four, and then the pictures turned into school photos. Classroom photos.

The next album held photos of a much younger Sheldon and Zoe and shared picnics and lots of outdoor activities. There were photos of Sheldon teaching two kids how to fish, others of Amanda cooking fish on a camp stove. Cub Scouts, Boy Scouts. Baseball games. A school bus that stopped by the mailbox at the end of the drive, with a very small Sam looking anything but happy to be going to school. A kids' school trip to the Wright museum, with Sam smiling next to a replica of the Wright brothers' first airplane. Next, a birthday cake in the shape of the Wright flier. Eleven candles.

A snowball fort, and a snow-suited Zoe sitting on top of a bundled and booted Sam and the girl was washing his face with snow. A large muddy, white dog that must have been Diesel's predecessor getting a bath and young Sam, tall and bony, without a shirt, scrubbing the animal. There were also pictures of the house getting a new roof. Sam dressed up in a tux and carrying a box with a corsage in it. A beach vacation when Sam and Zoe were older teens, looking straight on at the camera, neither was smiling. Next, Sam as a college ROTC grad. And finally, an engagement photo of a younger Sam and Zoe.

The last of the albums contained wedding and grandkid photos and more photos of Zoe and Amanda next to oversized ovens and oversized work spaces and oversized cakes and then blank pages, as if she'd been too busy to add more.

Sam found himself touched by the gesture. He'd swiped the images from Zoe's phone. She admitted she'd left it so he could see something of his family. And this, what Amanda had done was . . . thoughtful. To fill in some of the blanks.

What crossed his mind, though, when he saw some of the older photos with dates at the bottom of the print was where in the world he had been at that time, where he'd been and what he'd been doing when his son was going on a field trip to a museum or Amanda was cooking fish on a camp stove or Sam was graduating or Sam and Zoe were getting married.

He looked out the window into the night. What would he have done then? Would the mission have always been more important, more compelling even if he'd known about his son? Just how much of this screw up was he responsible for?

It hurt to be honest with himself. Anger was easier.

#

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The next morning, he didn't say anything about the photo albums she'd left for him. He didn't say anything at all. He wanted to, but he couldn't come up with what he wanted to say about that yet. So he said nothing. He needed to think about it.

It was his turn to watch Jacob and Noah, and they wanted to stay at their house today, so Sam headed there.

"Hey, Dad," Sam greeted him by holding up a coffee pot. "Want some?'

"Yeah, that'd be good."

They had yet to have a father son talk about anything of any substance, but since the night Sam had overheard his argument with Amanda, things had changed between them. He still hadn't adjusted to being called Dad, but he liked it. He figured they'd get around to something but it hadn't happened yet.

"The boys are still asleep, so you're on your own for breakfast and lunch. Thanks a lot for coming. I'll stop and see Zoe before I come back. Mom's staying with her this morning. She says they have cake business stuff to discuss."

Sheldon showed up around three.

Sam had just helped construct a rather complicated series of tunnels in Jacob's room with blocks when they heard him at the back door.

"Hey boys!" he called. "Sam?"

Jacob grinned, Noah laughed and both boys raced out of the room. So much for complicated block structures. Sam started gathering the pieces and returning them to the block bin.

"Hey, thought you'd still be sleeping," Sam said.

"Nope, I'm all done Wal-Mart-ing, as folks say, just in time to wait for Zoe to have that granddaughter we need. I haven't seen the boys in a week, so I thought I'd stop by."

"Come on, grandpas, it's cartoon time!" Noah called.

"Go ahead, boys," Sheldon called. "We'll be there in a minute."

Sam could have groaned. "Do you know who SpongeBob Square Pants is? That is . . . " he paused.

Sheldon laughed. "I suppose a SEAL would find that -"

"Weird," Sam said. "It's weird."

"It grows on you," Sheldon said. "So have you decided?"

"Decided what?"

"How long you're staying?"

"No, ah. . . . no."

"Westen's still on medical leave so they probably won't need you for a while. And I hear he might be retiring. Pearce, er, Porter, too. Didn't know she was pregnant."

Sam tilted his head, looked at Sheldon and a blip of memory flashed. "Dunham. I didn't think you actually had a body. I thought you were just a computer-generated voice."

"I used to be, at least the computer-generated part. Now I'm retired. But there's always work for people with unique skills. And they still keep me in the loop."

"Does Sam . . . ?"

Sheldon shook his head no. "He's your son. I think he responds the same way you do, and I started gently discouraging him from special ops a long time ago, mostly because of Zoe. He decided on ROTC and the Guard all by himself."

"Thank you."

Sam let himself travel back in time a bit, remembered some things Zoe had spoken about, then looked at Sheldon. "When did you move here?"

"Early 80s."

Sam just stared at him. "That's when . . . "

"Yeah, the bounty that crazy Libyan offered attracted unfriendly treasure hunters. We weren't concerned about you, but every team member's family got extra protection, and I was a perfect fit here after my wife left me and Zoe."

"I screwed up, though. I should have made her -"

"If you'd made her a military dependent, she would have been in more danger. We found her through, uh, Mack's last debrief. It was a difficult situation. Anyway, Zoe and I lived here, in this house, while the cabin was built. By the end of that op, I didn't want to leave and Zoe probably would have had a tantrum. She got real attached to Sam. And it was easy to stay. Bragg's not that far, and the cabin has some special features."

Sam grinned. "Perfect cell reception. Say, did you really design software?"

Sheldon nodded. "Of course I did."

"Good cover."

Sheldon scoffed. "Good income. And I really do consumer research. What I wanted to say is that it's been very difficult for a lot of years not to tell Amanda where you were or what you were doing. She tried to find you, Sam. You should know."

Sam crossed his arms over his chest and viewed his fellow father-in-law with irritation.

"Sam told Zoe about hearing me and Amanda argue. Zoe told you."

Sheldon shrugged. "We're family."

#

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Amanda was in the kitchen washing dishes when Sam came in the back door. She looked over her shoulder at him and said "hi."

"I had dinner with the boys and Sheldon. Sam was running late."

"Shel's a good cook."

"He's been a good friend to you."

She shot him a wary glance, pulled her hands out of the water and dried them then turned to look at him. "And that's all we've ever been to each other - friends."

Sam frowned. "Hey, I wasn't suggesting anything else."

She sighed and looked down. "Sorry. I'm a little . . . touchy . . . lately."

That was a good word, Sam realized, because the moment he saw her, he wanted to touch her.

She was wearing shorts, a tank top and her hair was clipped up away from her neck. Her legs and feet were bare. It had been a really . . . really sweet view from the back porch step. Her face was damp from the hot water she'd been using, and he shouldn't be thinking what he was thinking but he couldn't stop thinking it.

He stopped at the counter and leaned against it and looked down at her. "I, uh, I wanted to thank you for the photo books you left upstairs. I spent a long time looking at them last night and thinking about them today. You did a good job, Amanda. You should be proud of yourself. It looks like he didn't miss a thing. You raised good man. Not everybody can do that."

With her back to the counter she rested her hands on the counter top to steady herself and looked up into his face. "I never thought I would . . . hear you say something like that."

"I don't think we can start over but . . . maybe we can just start again?"

"I don't know how to do that, Sam."

"Well, how about this?" he wondered as he stepped closer to her and put his arms around her waist to pull her sweet, compact, feminine form to his before he slowly lowered his lips to hers. "Thank you for my son, Amanda. Thank you." Then he kissed her.

It started slow and ended . . . not so slow.

Oh, this is what he'd forgotten.

The cobwebs of years without this started dissipating as he deepened the kiss and felt her respond to him equally, every step of the way. She slid her arms up around his neck and stepped on top of his boot toes as she'd done many times, many years before.

So this is what none of the other women he'd held or enjoyed could ever give him.

A sharp knock at the back door broke their kiss apart. Brown eyes met startled blue eyes as they turned together, their arms still around each other, and looked to see who'd knocked.

It was Sam, grinning, on the other side of the screen door.

"I'm going to have to change mufflers or start calling before I come over."

Sam and Amanda seemed dumbstruck by his arrival. Neither could respond, but could only stare at him.

"Never thought I'd see this," he continued. "My parents together . . . embarrassed because I caught them kissing." He shook his head and smiled. "I just stopped by to tell you Zoe has gone into labor and I'm going to have a daughter and you're going to have granddaughter before midnight. See you at the hospital." He turned and went down the steps whistling.

Sam looked down into Amanda's face.

They weren't done.

She moved her hands from around his neck to his head to pull him toward her for another kiss. Sam eagerly complied and felt his body respond as if he was in his twenties. Amanda recognized that, too, and after a moment, she slowly dropped her hands then stepped off his boot toes.

When she'd put at least an arm's length of distance between them, he could see that her body was shaking a little bit. Sam held out his hand to her. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Really. That . . . was just a little . . . I mean . . . " she swallowed, hard. "It's been a very long time for me. I'm not . . ." She stepped back again and looked up into his face. "But I'm thinking it hasn't been so long for you." Amanda was studying his expression. She bit her lip. "Has it?"

Slowly, he shook his head no.

"Oh. Well . . . " With that she walked around him. "I need to change into grandma clothes for the hospital."

"Grandma clothes?"

"Not shorts and a tank top."

He put his hand on her shoulder to stop her. "Can we talk about this? It was just a . . . kiss."

She looked up. "Was it?"

It was his turn to be embarrassed. "Ah . . . "

"It seemed . . . felt like . . . a lot more. If Sam hadn't knocked on the door, would it have just been just a kiss?"

He looked down. He could see the vein in her throat throbbing next to the heart shaped birthmark on her neck. "What can I say, Amanda? I'm a man, I've had sex . . . I haven't been celibate since the last time I saw you, if that's what you want to know."

"I didn't ask."

"I know. But it was . . . just . . . sex."

"I understand," she said. "Really, I do. But if we . . . that's not what it would be for me."

"Then what would it be?"

"More."

He paused and realized she'd involved the L word without actually using it. "Semantics."

"Maybe for you, not for me."

"You don't want . . . ?"

In two quick motions, she turned stepped closer to him, then stepped up on his boot toes put her arms around his shoulders and pressed her body against his. "I want. Try wanting for thirty years." She pulled his mouth to hers and kissed him with everything she had to communicate her need. Then, she pulled away, breathing hard. "But I don't know where you've been or who you've been with, and I've read a lot of scary stories."

Sam was feeling dizzy. This woman was killing him. "Scary stories? About sex?"

"Pick a disease."

"Oh. No, I'm okay."

"Do you know that for sure?"

"Yeah."

"So you could take one of those tests and pass."

"Yeah." He could hear himself sound less positive now.

She bit her lip. "When was the last time you, ah . . ."

He held her gaze. "Not so long ago."

"Weeks? Months?"

He didn't answer. "Is there a VA around here?"

She looked down at her hand on his arm and dropped it. Her voice was soft. "I'm not trying to bargain with you. I'm just trying to say this would be a lot different for me than it would for you. And it doesn't change the fact that you're still mad at me, and you'll be going back to Miami."

She left the room to change, and Sam Axe found himself in a very unusual position.

He'd understood exactly what she was saying. It would be making love. And he'd get one of those tests and show her the results, but until then . . . he was going to try to act his age. On second thought, maybe he'd try for something else because he felt like he was 18 years old again, getting younger and dumber by the minute.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

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Sam had been 15 when he made it his mission to find out about his father. And the only person who could answer his questions was his mother, but his mother who didn't discuss his father.

It didn't matter. He'd had an argument with Zoe and he'd felt more alone than ever when she'd said she never wanted to speak to him again, and she meant it.

His mother had been all smiles that night when she came in the back door; she usually was around him.

"I had a good day," she said. "That cake sold for $400. I didn't know anyone would pay $400 for a wedding cake!"

"I think you should have asked more."

She caressed his cheek with her hand. "You always think that."

"Mom, it's time you tell me about my dad. I need to know. You've put me off long enough."

She'd closed her eyes and put one hand over her heart. Under it was the gold chain had his father's wedding ring on it. He wanted an explanation for that, too, and told her that, but she always shook her head no.

This time, though, she finally told him as much as she would. That small amount of information had satisfied him for a long time.

"You already know you look like him because you don't look like me. And when you're done growing, you'll probably be as tall as him. You have the same name and you have the same birthday. You were born on his birthday. Cool, huh? He was in the Navy so he wasn't here when you were born, and when he came back . . . "

She'd paused then and looked away.

It was a couple of minutes before she told him the rest. "I did something that made him angry and made me sad. It was wrong. I made a mistake. He had to go back to the Navy and I haven't heard from him since then. Please don't blame him, Sam. What went wrong between your father and me was all my fault."

"Nothing is ever one person's fault, Mom. Isn't that what you tell me and Zoe when we argue?"

"No, sometimes it is."

"Well, I'm never going in the Navy, and if I ever meet him, I'm going to put him on the floor for leaving us."

"I'm sorry about the gossip. I bet that's what made you ask tonight."

"No. I was arguing with Zoe."

Of course he'd heard the gossip already. That's what he and Zoe argued about. She'd heard the same story as he had, but she didn't believe it.

"My dad gets just as sad as your mom because the person they loved left them. It's not their fault."

Sam told her she'd been watching too much Anne of Green Gables again, and that made her mad, so she'd hit him with her book bag. Then everything between the two of them got real crazy and when she said she didn't want to speak to him ever again, she really meant it. In the years they didn't speak to each other, he missed her every day until gradually it didn't hurt so bad. But not having Zoe to talk to had always given him pain. Then, seven years ago, after he finished ROTC in college and enlisted in the Guard, he'd come home to surprise his mom with a visit. That's when he ran into her, in his mother's kitchen of all places.

All of a sudden, his mother had to go do something in town. It wasn't until later, he was sure she'd left them alone on purpose. They'd spent the afternoon together, and that had been long enough to mend their differences and give each other something each had always wanted since they were old enough to understand wanting.

He asked her to marry him, and two days later they picked out their rings. Twenty-two days after that they were married in her dad's back yard, and his mom made the most beautiful wedding cake she'd ever made. Zoe took at least a thousand pictures of it.

They promised each other they would stay married forever, and then they got serious about making the beautiful babies they talked about once, briefly, before their big argument. That had worked out well until this pregnancy. He didn't want to see Zoe hurt again like she had during this pregnancy, and he knew they needed to talk more about that soon because he could not lose her.

He was still smiling about interrupting his parents' kiss by the time he got to Zoe's room and learned their little girl was in more of a hurry than either of their boys had been. Sam leaned down to kiss the woman who had held his heart in her hands since she was four years old. "Guess what?"

"Make it good news," she said, taking a slow deep breath.

"I stopped to tell my mom to come to the hospital, and my parents were in the kitchen again."

"Oh, no," she said.

Sam grinned. "They weren't talking, Zo."

She grabbed his hand and squeezed hard. He glanced over the monitor and watched the wave crest and waited for Zoe to come off the pain of the contraction. When she could breathe easier, she asked. "What were they doing?"

"Kissing. I think I just saw how I got here." He laughed then. "They never heard the Jeep, and when I backed up to leave I looked back at the window and guess what?"

Zoe smiled. "They were still kissing."

"I think they might even . . . "

"Really?"

"Wait and see when they get here."

"You can tell?" Zoe asked.

"Ah, yeah," Sam said, grinning at her.

"Oooh, Sammmmmmmmy . . . call that nurse back. And the doctor."

Amanda Abrielle Axe was in a rush to be born, and within the next twenty minutes Sam and Zoe had a beautiful dark haired daughter, all seven pounds and seven ounces of her.

They'd decided on her name after they learned they would be having a girl, not only because of who Amanda was to both of them, but because of what her name meant. Amanda, worthy of being loved, and Abrielle, God is my strength, seemed to be the perfect fit for their daughter. They hoped Sam's mom would be pleased with their choice.

By the time his parents arrived, Sam was in the nursery with his daughter, while Zoe was getting a couple of stitches of the variety she'd never been fond of.

Sam watched his parents' arrival, then saw his mother do what she'd done when Jacob and Noah were born. Happy tears ran down her face. His dad looked a little shell shocked or something. He wasn't sure.

Missy Amanda wasn't quite ready for public viewing yet as the nurse finished cleaning the vernix that coated and protected her newborn skin. One of the nurses told him that Zoe was ready, and they could take her baby to Zoe just as he noticed Sheldon and the boys arrive. When the nurse noticed, she motioned to Sam.

With a window glass between them and his dad holding Noah while Sheldon held Jacob, he held up their sister for them to see. Noah was pouting a little but Jacob seemed very interested, he noticed. He couldn't tell what his dad was saying to Noah, but whatever it was, it was effective because he smiled and noticed his mom pat his dad's shoulder in approval of whatever that was.

That night, after all the introductions of the newest Axe family member to each person there, after Noah and Jacob got to hug their mom and hear how much she'd missed them while she'd been in the hospital, after watching Noah fall asleep in his father's arms and Jacob do the same in Sheldon's arms, and watching his mother's face when Zoe told her why they named their daughter after her, Sam Axe the younger was at peace.

Sam Axe the older was not.

Somewhere between telling Noah that he wasn't a _little _brother now, he was a _big_ brother, and watching Amanda swipe away all her tears after Zoe and Sam told her why they named their daughter for her, Sam realized he knew nothing of his own son's arrival in the world, and even at this late date, he wanted to.

Sheldon was staying the night with the boys at their house. He and Amanda had gone to the house to help him get them settled for bed, since their daddy would be spending the night at the hospital with their mommy, which meant Sam and Amanda were going home together.

She'd just gone up the back steps and walked into the kitchen to let Diesel out when Sam stopped her from going a step farther. He'd already interpreted her subtle do not touch messages, and wasn't going to go there, but he did want to know what had happened when Sam was born. That hadn't even crossed his mind until he saw Zoe tonight.

"Hey," he said softly. "Please wait, Mandy. Tell me what happened when Sam was born."

She moved away from him, away from being touched. "Why?"

"Because I don't know, and I would like to."

She looked up at him and walked back to the screen door and stood with her back to him looking outside. It was a couple of minutes before she could began without having emotion overtake her. When she started speaking, her voice was so quiet he had to move to the side near the door to hear her clearly.

"I'd been at work all day, so I didn't even realize I'd been in the early stages of labor until I got ready to go home, but my water broke in the car and I couldn't drive. And it was a mess, and I was crying. There was a cop I waited on all the time, and he saw me and stopped, thank goodness.

"He took me to the hospital in his car. So I got there and the next thing I knew was there was something wrong with the baby. He had an irregular heartbeat. They gave me a shot to stop the labor and I signed a bunch of papers so I could have an emergency c-section. All of that is a little fuzzy, but I remember when I woke up from that they kept telling me I had a son. I guess it took a while for that to sink in because they kept repeating it.

"I didn't know he was born on your birthday until they brought me the forms to fill out to register his birth and they had the date and time of his birth listed. So that was when I decided I should name him after you."

"Where was your dad?"

"He was sick then, but he hadn't told anyone about the cancer then. I called him from the hospital, but he wasn't home. I should have just walked to the other side of the building, because that's where he was."

"You were by yourself."

She shrugged. "Except for that time . . . when I wasn't here with Sam, that's been normal, most of my life. Once I stopped being crazy or feeling crazy, having Sam to love made me happy, and that's why Sheldon and Zoe are so important to me. We sorta made each other family."

She opened the door and Diesel came in, wagging his oversized tail, nuzzling her hand. She petted his head, shut the door and left the room.

The bruise Sam felt when he'd been slugged by his son within seconds of meeting him was only less painful than the knowledge that he'd had a son all these years, but this tale of how his son came into the world occupied an even higher plateau of emotional devastation. Hearing Amanda's story made him feel weak. Inadequate.

His moral high ground kept sinking.

An invisible scarlet A for decades. Emergency surgery for childbirth. Her only adult relative, a sick father. Yeah, at the moment, Sam felt about two inches tall.

Diesel stood next to him and head butted his leg. When it was time to go to bed, the dog signaled. Sam closed and locked the back door and went up to the room at the top of the house.

He realized he hadn't had a drink since he'd arrived in North Carolina, but tonight he wanted one. He doubted, though, Amanda would understand why he needed one.

It was quite a long time before he could close his eyes and sleep.

#

#

#

Morning came long before Sam was ready. He heard Amanda say "go get him, Diesel," and the next thing he felt was a hundred and forty pound dog thump two paws on his chest and start licking his face.

"Heeyyyy!" Sam shouted.

He could hear Amanda laughing in the kitchen below.

The dog was not to be deterred. "No, no, dog. No." He needed a shower to remove dog spit.

Sam pulled on the jeans he'd worn yesterday, grabbed some clean clothes and headed down for a shower. Amanda was in the kitchen, pulling something out of the oven that smelled of cinnamon and vanilla. She glanced up at him and then quickly away.

"Mmm. What is that?" he wondered.

"Baked French toast for the boys."

He walked over to her and dropped a small kiss at the nape of her neck. "I'm sorry you were all alone when Sam was born," he said softly before he turned and left the room.

Amanda braced her arms along the counter and steadied her trembling body and tried to regulate her breathing. She didn't know if she could take much more of that kind of thing. And, he really needed to keep his shirt on.

By the time Sam rejoined her, she had her basket packed and was ready to leave. She would relieve Sheldon and spend the morning with the boys since he had a couple of business people coming to meet with him.

Sam carried her basket to her truck, as if she hadn't done it by herself hundred of times.

Then he left to visit Zoe and Sam this morning.

#

#

#

"Hey, Dad," Sam said around a yawn. "Zoe'll be glad to see you. Go on in; I'm going for coffee."

Sam knocked on the door. He could see she was in the bed and the baby was in her arms.

"You decent?"

She laughed. "Sammy said the same thing just a while ago. Yes, I'm decent unless you object to seeing a baby nurse. Some people do."

Sam stepped in the room but stayed to the side. "No objection, it just seems . . . hmm."

"Too personal," she filled in.

"Yeah. My friends in Miami just had a baby boy, and she's nursing him, too."

"It's healthier for the baby and moms get some benefits. So, how are you doing, grandpa?"

Sam sat down on a chair at an angle from the bed, giving Zoe as much privacy as his presence in the room would allow. "Feeling old, Zoe. All that grandpa stuff," he said, teasing. "The important question is, how are you doing?"

"I'm okay, looking forward to getting out of here, though."

"Not until her blood pressure returns to normal, though," Sam said from behind him. He had a cup of coffee and had brought another for his dad and handed it to him before he went over to give Zoe a kiss.

"Here, Sammy, take her. I'm feeling kind of tired."

Sam must have seen something he hadn't becasue he reached for the call button behind the bed and depressed it then lifted the baby from her arms.

He turned around and said, "Here, Dad. Hold her."

He was holding his feather of a granddaughter was in his arms, but he couldn't take time to enjoy her. Two nurses came racing through the door, just as the monitor next to Zoe's bed started beeping wildly. A second or two later two more medical people came into the room.

Sam stood with the baby in his arms and started backing away toward the door. A doctor appeared, then someone dressed in scrubs escorted Sam completely out of the room. "You're a relative?" he asked.

Sam nodded. "Yes, I'm the baby's grandfather."

"Then take her back to the nursery."

And he did, and when he returned his son was outside the door, leaning over, his hands braced on his knees, taking deep breaths. When he saw his dad, he stood. "Call Sheldon. This is serious. They're trying to keep her from having a stroke."

Sam walked to the end of the hallway and called Sheldon and then Amanda to give them his son's brief explanation of what was happening. Both Sheldon and Amanda indicated they would be at the hospital as soon as possible. Amanda was calling someone the boys knew to come and stay with them.

By the time he walked back to the opposite end of the hall, it was just in time to see two more people who were clearly medical personnel rush into Zoe's room. Sam was pacing in front of her door.

"Hey, there," Sam said as he approached. The look of devastation on his son's face was overpowering. He put his arm around his shoulders and felt his body trembling with worry. "Come on, Sam. Let's go sit over there."

They started walking toward a small area with seating but stopped to get out of the way of a large piece of medical equipment on a cart being pushed quickly down the hall and into Zoe's room.

Sam looked at his dad. "How many people are in there now?"

"I don't know. Seven? Eight?"

"Where's the baby?"

"Back in the nursery."

When they got to the little sitting area, they were the only ones there, and sitting wasn't possible for either Sam or his father. They took turns walking to watch what was happening outside Zoe's door, and looking out the window.

Sam spotted Amanda and Sheldon coming down the hall. And behind them, Mike and Jesse, of all things.

Amanda went straight to her son to wrap her arms around him and so did Sheldon. The three of them were standing there as he was explaining what he knew. That was the family unit that had been in place for most of his son's life, Sam realized. He took a step back, feeling unnecessary.

Mike put his hands on Sam's shoulders and stopped his movement. He turned around and looked into his face.

"This is not good, Mike, not good." Then he looked up at Jesse. "How's Dani? Because Zoe's in there and they're trying to keep her from having a stroke."

"She was good when I left. She's been good, and she's following the doctor's orders."

Sam's face was long. "And so did Zoe."

They stepped back and put some distance between Sam, Amanda and Sheldon. They were close but far enough away for a little privacy.

"You were Sheldon's morning appointment, I take it," Sam said, looking at Mike.

"Yeah. Fi and I are debating what next, and looking into doing something similar to what Dunham did. Raines set up the meeting. We didn't know he was your son's father-in-law until we got here."

Sam grimaced. "Raines knew."

Jesse filled in the rest. "And SecuriCorp is trying to hire Mike and Sheldon, so I'm the official troublemaker."

"And transportation," Mike filled in. "Nice plane."

"How's Gabe?" Sam asked.

"Growing," Mike said with a quiet pride. "He just started sleeping through the night. That made us real happy."

Jesse interrupted. "Introduce us, Sam, and we'll get out of your business and back to Miami."

And so he did.

He turned and walked back to where Amanda and Sam were sitting next to Sheldon.

"Amanda, I want to introduce to you a couple of my friends from Miami."

She stood and smiled and shook their hands.

"This is Michael Westen," he said, as Mike extended a hand. "And Jesse Porter."

Jesse also extended his hand.

"And this is my son Sam," he said, as Sam rose to shake their hands, too. "I've known Mike about twenty years, and it only seems I've known Jesse that long," he said with an attempt for humor.

"So who has the baby boy and who's waiting for a baby?" Amanda asked.

Michael smiled. "Gabe is two months old. Finally sleeping through the night."

"And in another six weeks we'll have a baby . . . girl or boy. We didn't want to find out early," Jesse explained.

"What brings you to this part of the world?" the younger Sam asked.

"They're looking into some of the research I do," Sheldon explained from the side.

"You've known my dad a long time," Sam commented, looking at Michael.

"Yeah, and good thing, too. He's a good man," Michael said.

"Sometimes," Jesse said, dryly.

"All right, guys, back to Florida. I'll walk you out after I show you my granddaughter," Sam said.

As Sam watched his father walk away with Westen and Porter, the expression on his face grew somber. Then he glanced over at the man who had been more father to him than his own father and knew the air had grown heavy with secrecy, and that his father and his friends all operated in the same realm, and, now that he saw the expression on Sheldon's face . . . so did his father-in-law.

And when Sheldon caught his gaze, he knew Sam would be speaking with him soon.

Sam got up and walked over to the window that overlooked the parking lot in front of the hospital to see if they were there, and they were. Talking seriously, smiling, exchanging hugs, saying good-bye the way comrades in arms or brothers on a battlefield say good-bye.

"That's his Florida family," his mother said from beside him.

"Yeah," Sam said. "His brothers."

#

#

#

"Will you let us know if your daughter-in-law is all right?" Mike asked.

"I will."

"Hey, Sam," Jesse began. "I owe you an apology, man."

"For what?"

"For thinking you were someone who abandoned your kid."

"Is that why neither of you would to talk to me?"

"Yeah," Mike said. "I'm sorry."

"I should have known you'd never leave a son you knew about," Jesse said. "So what now?"

Sam inhaled sharply. "I can't leave now, there's too much here . . ."

"What about Ronnie?" Jesse had to ask.

"She's not Amanda."

"Yeah, we noticed." Jesse grinned, then sobered. "She's a beautiful woman. You'd be a fool . . ." he started then stopped. "Sorry, Sam. You don't need my opinion."

"So you're married or . . . ?" Mike wondered.

"Not that simple." Sam said. "Trying to figure it out."

"We can see that," Jesse said. "You know where we are if you need anything. Take care of your family." He took Sam's hand then pulled him in for a quick hug.

Michael shook his head and copied Jesse's move for for longer. "I owe you my life, Sam. I'd be in a psych ward or dead if you hadn't done what did for me. You, Fi, my mom, Nate . . . you all gave me back my life."

"So how is Nate?"

Michael laughed. "Says he's glad not to hear you complaining. Last week, I finally could run longer and farther than him."

Sam grinned. "Good for you, Mikey."

He watched them walk away and get in their rental car and raised a hand in farewell as they headed out of the parking lot. He wondered when he'd see them again.

#

#

#

Sam was in the nursery, holding his daughter, feeding her a bottle of formula, when Amanda stopped her husband in the hallway.

"They say Zoe is going to be all right, her BP's back in the normal range, but they're not going to let any of us in to see her except Sam for the next 24 to 48 hours."

Sam felt like a weight had been lifted. "Thank God."

"Yes."

"I told him to go home and see the boys and shower and change since Zoe's resting now. As soon as he's done feeding the baby, he will. I told him we'd stay and listen in the event something goes wrong which they're not expecting, but you know how these things are. And Sheldon already left to go see the boys."

"Yeah, we can do that."

They sat down in the waiting area they'd just been in.

"I'm thinking of temporarily closing the Cakery after Zoe gets home, so I can help her with the house, the cooking and the boys." Amanda said. "If you're staying, then you can help with the boys, too. That would be good."

"Of course I'm staying," he said, "what makes you think I wouldn't?"

She shook her head. "Never mind. Anyway, I have one wedding cake I need to finish and deliver tomorrow and normally I'd ask Sam or Sheldon to help, but I don't want to take them away from Zoe. I can tell you what to do; it's not hard, but the cake is heavy and it requires being careful. Would you help me?"

He held her gaze. "Yes. You need to do something for me now." He held out his hand and cupped his palm.

She looked at his empty hand. "You said . . ."

"I know what I said. I'm sorry." She glanced from his hand to his eyes and apparently decided she believed what she saw there because she reached behind her neck and removed the chain and pulled it up and dropped the ring off the end of the chain into his palm.

"Where's yours?"

"At home."

"Then that's where we go next."

"All right."

"And I'll get you that piece of paper."

She blushed and looked down at the ring and slid it over his finger. It still fit. "You don't have to."

"Yes, I have to."

He took her hand and held it and was still holding it when their son approached and told them he was going home to shower and change and that Zoe was still sleeping.

"We'll go relieve Sheldon when you come back," Amanda said.

#

#

#

Sheldon was loading the dishwasher when Sam came through the front door to find his boys watching something noisy on the Cartoon Network. He grabbed the remote and turned the TV off so he could talk to them and tell them about what was happening with their mom, and let them know when he'd be back, and when his grandparents would be there, and maybe when their mom and baby sister would be coming home.

He took his time and answered all their questions between giving them hugs, and then asked them what they thought about all the changes. That's when he learned the main thing both of his sons wanted was for their mommy to come home.

With a proper number of hugs and cartoons for comfort, Sam concluded his fatherly task.

Sheldon had been watching from the doorway. Sam looked up and walked into the kitchen then turned around and crossed his arms over his chest.

"So who are you and what have you done with my father-in-law?"

"I don't know . . . "

Sam shook his head. "Oh you don't, Shel. You've redirected, misdirected and thrown up the last smoke screen. Westen and Porter were not here for consumer research. And how do you know my father?"

"I just met him."

"I'm sure that is true, because you don't lie, but that's not what I asked."

"You really are his son."

"And I am my mother's son, too, and I think I'm old enough now to know what in the hell has been going on and how all of you know each other."

Sheldon looked as if he was debating answering, so Sam provided assistance. "You're CIA."

"Retired. Westen -"

"Is CIA, too. Even lowly Guard captains read reports."

"He's thinking of retiring, as is Porter's wife. She's CIA. He was with CIFA; he's retired, works for SecuriCorp."

"And my father?"

"Navy SEAL."

Sam shook his head. "I'm taking a shower and going back. But we're not done here."

"Talk to your dad."

"Oh, I will."

"Try not to hurt him. Your mother seems real fond of him."

Sam smiled. "I've noticed."

#

#

#

Sam Axe the younger was plumb out of patience.

He kept that a secret to himself and waited for his mother to leave before he delayed his father.

"Hey, Dad, hold up," Sam said.

He'd already determined Zoe was still sleeping and being monitored when he asked his dad stay. They sat at the end of the sitting area where they'd been previously.

"Got a couple of questions," he said, "and I already know neither you or Mom are going to explain why you've got that ring she's been wearing around her neck for years on your finger now, so I won't ask about that."

"Okay," Sam replied warily.

"So where would a Navy SEAL have been in, say, 1978? Shel already tried to play dumb."

Sam sighed. "I knew this was coming after you met Mike and Jesse."

"They're not consumer research types."

"But they could be." Sam knew that was little smart-assy, but hell, what else was he going to say?

"Only if it related to an operation, right?"

"Right."

"Tell you what. You go explain all of this to Mom first and then we'll talk. Deal?"

Sam sighed. He wasn't the only smart ass in the family. "Yeah. Deal."

"I mean it."

"I know." Sam stood up and his son followed behind.

"Hey, Dad," he said softly.

"What?"

"I love you."

With that Sam turned around took a step back and hugged his son. "I love you, too. I do. And I really hope Zoe is going to be okay."

And a door that had been shut inside Sam's heart opened.

#

#

#

Amanda Axe sat on her bed with a wedding ring she hadn't worn in 30 years on her left finger and listened to Sam's explanation of where he'd been when Sam was born.

Her son, their son, had been behind this . . . revelation.

And all of this good news had been the result of Sam's friends from Miami visiting Sheldon.

"So you're telling me Sheldon came here, moved here, to protect us because someone was hunting you for a ransom and if they'd known Sam and I were your family they would have killed us."

"Yes."

"But you didn't know this until . . . yesterday."

Sam nodded.

"So you're a . . .spy?"

"Not then, I was a SEAL. SEALs work with the CIA. Now, I'm a researcher for a spy. Or I was."

"No wonder you wouldn't want to come back to North Carolina. How could this kind of life compete with all that?"

"No, that wasn't it. I didn't want to talk to you. Mack was my friend, I thought . . . I thought what happened between us was all over. I went away and didn't look back until well, a few times. We were old news and I didn't know about Sam. I didn't think there was any reason to come here until . . ."

"Until what?"

"Until I wanted to convince a woman I knew to . . . marry me, but then I needed a divorce so . . . "

"That's why you stayed away? That was a long time to be angry. So where's this woman now, the one you want to marry?"

"I don't know."

"Is that a lie?"

"No, Mandy, I don't know where she's at, really, I don't."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"I thought I needed to settle the score with you before I could move on, but then when I got here . . ."

She turned away, crossed her arms into a nice, compact, self contained woman. "When you got here you found you had a son, grandsons and a granddaughter on the way. And what does _settle the score_ mean?

"It doesn't mean anything anymore!" he yelled.

"Really? Hmm." She twisted the ring off her finger and handed it to him. "This is not going to work, not with you wishing I was someone else. Let me know when you think you've sufficiently settled the score, all right? And don't worry about helping me. I know someone I can hire for that. I've been self-sufficient for a long time."

#

#

#

"Okay, we're waiting," Fiona said. "What's she like?"

"Amanda Axe is a beautiful woman," Michael said. Jesse nodded in agreement.

"And how's Sam doing?"

"You wouldn't recognize him. He's wearing jeans and boots, and looks like he's trying to swim upstream."

"What does that mean?"

"I'm not sure we're ever going to see him back here," Michael said. "It looks like everything he wants is there. His wife, his son, his family, the one he didn't know he had."

"We may need to go see for ourselves," Fiona said.

Madeline agreed. "But not until after Dani has a baby."

"Which can't be soon enough," Dani said.

"What's his son like?" Fiona asked.

"We didn't talk that much, but I'm not sure he believed what Dunham told him about us."

"Which was?" Dani asked.

"We were looking into some research." Jesse said.

Michael smiled. "No. He's Sam's son. He didn't believe that at all."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

#

#

#

She'd turned her phone off.

She wasn't at home.

She wasn't at the hospital but she'd been there.

The boys were with Sam and they were at the hospital with Zoe, who was still being held prisoner by her blood pressure and blood sugar levels.

She wasn't at the Cakery.

If she was delivering a cake, he had no idea where she that had been. And she might have done that already. He hadn't noticed the panel van with the A to Z Cakery logo until he'd taken a trip down the alley. Her truck wasn't parked anywhere near her business.

He just wanted to talk to her.

The woman was frustrating him, but maybe she didn't see it that way. Maybe he was frustrating her.

Now that was a hell of a thought to cross his mind.

_This is not going to work, not with you wishing I was someone else. Let me know when you think you've sufficiently settled the score. _

He'd never intended to blurt out the reason behind the reason he drove to North Carolina, and had certainly never intended to be dealing with the logical conclusion she'd arrived at. She'd gone from reasonable to hurt in two seconds flat.

She had everything completely wrong. Now.

Completely wrong _now_.

Sam returned to the house and let Diesel out then sat in a rocking chair on the front porch for a while, rocking, trying to figure out what he needed to do next. He opened his phone and hit 2 on speed dial.

"Yo, Sammy, what's up man?" Jesse asked.

"How's Dani doing?"

"Good. She's good. How about Zoe?"

"They're not letting her out of the hospital yet, so she's a little grumpy about that."

"Good."

The silence was the clue. Jesse had never been one for chit chat. "Ah, Jess, I need a favor and I'd rather . . . you didn't mention it to Mike or Fi."

"Because?"

"Because I want you to find someone, and if they find out who I'm looking for there will be too many questions and I'm all out of answers."

"Who?"

"Her name is Veronica. Got a pen?" He gave Jesse as many details as he could.

"I'll see what I can do," Jesse said. "Want me to call or . . .?"

"Could you send it?"

"Can do."

"Thanks, Jess."

"Sure. Talk to you soon, Sam. Take care up there in badlands."

"Will do." Maybe. Sam closed his phone.

#

#

#

"What does he want?" Fiona asked.

"Help." Jesse got up from the table and walked back to his home office and returned with a file and set it on the table.

Michael opened it and grinned. He closed it and passed it to Fiona who laughed. She closed it and gave it to Dani.

"Who's this woman?" she said, looking up from a photo of an attractive blonde and her rather short and unattractive husband at a Cancer Society fundraiser in a Tampa restaurant, according to the newspaper caption.

Fiona smiled. "Veronica. I think Sam just got around to telling Amanda what prompted him to show up on her doorstep."

"I still don't understand," Dani said.

"About four years ago, he and Veronica were serious until she asked him to marry her and he couldn't because he'd never gotten a divorce. We didn't know his wife's name was Amanda name then," Michael explained. "That didn't happen until his friend Mack showed up, asking for help and Sam used his fist to say hello. Three, four times. I lost count. We didn't know what happened with his wife, but it was obvious Mack was involved."

"He got really upset with me," Fiona said, "when I told him he just needed to be honest with Veronica, and when he was, she kicked him out, and he moved in with Michael again."

"Oh," Dani's eyes grew round. "So this is the woman he just decided he was going to marry after he went to North Carolina and got the divorce from Amanda. That's a lot of presumptions. But this woman's married. Didn't he know that?"

"Never even asked the question," Michael said. ""Not quite his usual approach, is it?"

#

#

#

"Amanda."

He smiled. Sheldon had been expecting her. He thought she would have been here weeks ago, but he realized she must have debated with herself before coming.

He'd known her for a long time. She typically questioned her judgment about things she shouldn't question her judgment about.

"Hey, Shel. Can we talk?"

"Sure. Let me take your jacket. Chilly out there tonight, huh?"

Summer was fading. Earlier, he'd lit a fire in the massive fireplace in the living area; it let off a pleasant scent and warmth.

"Saw your namesake a while ago. She's getting bigger."

"Gosh, yes. Mostly I'm glad Zoe is finally getting her strength back."

"I was really worried for a while."

"Me, too, Sheldon. Me, too."

She wandered around the room before getting to the reason for her visit. "So I understand you moved here to protect me and Sam from people with guns. But you stayed."

"Yes."

"Are you really in the Central Intelligence Agency? I'm having a very, very hard time believing that. I've known you most of my life, and it seems . . . strange that I wouldn't have known or even suspected something before now."

"I understand. Come on. This will be a first. You'll be my first non-CIA guest." He started walking to his office and she followed. He reached to the back wall of a bookcase, pushed and a door opened to reveal a room full of electronic equipment, computers and screens, keyboards, large digital maps. The screens were dark but everything appeared to be on and humming.

"This is a surprise . . . wow."

"A lot of people are always . . . "

". . . surprised that the house isn't bigger inside, but it is, isn't it?" Amanda looked around and up to the ceiling. "Is it soundproof?"

"And fire proof, bullet proof and it also has a barrier against electronic snoopers which was recently updated."

"Shel? What do you do? This is make-believe stuff to someone who bakes cakes for a living."

"You do more than bake cakes. But what I used to . . . _used to do _. . . was coordinate complicated extraction operations."

"Extraction operations?"

"I helped others remove people who get trapped in bad places or needed help getting away from enemies. Sometimes they are average people, sometimes they work undercover, sometimes . . . "

"They are Michael Westen and Jesse Porter."

"Yes."

"How did you manage to do that? To keep it such a secret for so long?"

"Do you remember when I was designing software and I'd have to take extensive trips from time to time?"

"Yes, when Zoe would stay with us. Sam and I always liked that."

"I wasn't gone; I was in here, in this room, working."

"So you knew where Sam was all that time and you never said . . . " She walked back toward the door. "That hurts, Shel. That wasn't right. You knew I looked for him."

"I've told him that, and I hope you can understand why I couldn't do that then."

She turned and looked back at him and swiped at the corners of her eyes. "I don't understand, but that's not important now. The past can't be changed. I want to know what he did. I knew he was a SEAL when we got married, but he hadn't been one for very long, I mean . . . he had just turned 20 and I wasn't quite 18. I've heard about SEAL Team Six and all that, of course, but . . . maybe I'm not giving him enough credit or I don't understand. So what did he do? For you?"

"First, he never knew who I was until I told him recently. He only knew me as an electronically masked voice, and only by my last name. He was a very skilled negotiator and is genuinely brave man, Amanda. His skills were recognized early and he built on them. That's what elite Special Operations Group personnel are . . . and it's not easy work. It wasn't easy to do what he did for as long as he did."

"He said," she thought back, "that he made a mistake and got kicked out of the Navy. Do you know about that?"

"Yes, but that's his story, so ask him about it."

Amanda walked around the perimeter of the room. "Didn't Zoe ever find this?"

"Thankfully, no."

She continued to walk and think. "Why were his friends here? I know they met with you."

He held up the doorway with shoulder and watched her fret. "It's a small competition between employers. Jesse Porter, who used to work in counterintelligence, wants to hire me and Westen to work for his company, SecuriCorp. But, the CIA would like to keep me and Westen in an advisory capacity and not cut ties with us, even though Westen has many good reasons to do that. They wanted him to see how I worked here, to show him what is possible if he chooses a different lifestyle, and Porter was here to recruit both of us."

"Why would the CIA let a competitor come in like that?"

He grinned. "Spoken like the business woman you are. The reason is they don't see Porter that way. His wife is also in the CIA, so they see him as a friend accompanying a friend, providing transportation to an operative they've treated badly the past five years."

"Where does Sam fit in?"

"You should ask him, but he and Westen found themselves down and out in Miami, if you will, after the agency burned Westen and Sam got out of the Navy. They collaborated for several years and they made . . . actually, Amanda," Sheldon paused, "a lot of what they did is classified and I can't talk about that."

"Classified."

"Yeah, classified."

"You should ask Sam . . . "

She interrupted. "Burned?"

"When spies get fired it's known as being burned. As I was saying, you should ask Sam but I doubt he'll tell you what he and Westen and Porter and their wives really did recently. What I can tell you is that it was a unique operation that resolved a significant problem that compromised the entire intelligence community. In my experience those who are the most heroic never speak about what they've done unless they're being debriefed. Your husband is a good man and a patriot."

Amanda was walking in slow circles, listening to what Sheldon was telling her, but frowning. She was having a hard time accepting what he was telling her.

"You're a good man, too, Shel, but all of this is . . . the words you use? Intelligence, operation, debriefing? Talking like it's normal is almost too much for me to take in. It's like you live on a different planet even if you're right down the road from me."

"Sometimes that's what it felt like, but this is home for me. I was lucky to get that assignment then. And I think that may be what Westen and Sam are looking for now, someplace to do the work they know how to do, but have a life they can live apart from that."

She frowned at him.

"Westen's married and has a child now. Sam's just learned how much family he has, and that we all want him here. Having a real home or a solid anchor changes perspective. If you and Sam hadn't grounded me and Zoe after Beth left us, I don't know what would have become of us. Nothing good, I'm sure."

She patted his arm. They had been friends for a long time, and each had been left with the deepest kind of regret for the loss of the person they loved most except for the child each of them had been left with. She knew all of Sheldon's sad tale and he knew all of hers.

As they left the secret room inside his office and turned to leave, he put his arm around her shoulders, and she put hers around his waist.

"Did you find out when her funeral was?" she asked.

"Yes. On the same day Amanda Abrielle was born. I haven't told Zoe yet."

"I'm so sorry, Sheldon."

"I hope you and Sam can work things out, Amanda."

"I'm not sure that's possible," she said quietly. "He came here looking for a divorce, then got stuck in a time warp when he discovered Sam who I gladly would have told him about if I could have found him, and he says things like he wants to settle the score so I don't know what else I can do. He wants to marry someone I'm not. I don't think this will work out."

"That's hopeful."

She laughed. "Why in world would you say that?"

"You didn't say it was impossible."

#

#

#

He was sitting in the kitchen, waiting for her when she pulled into the driveway and parked in the garage she'd had built after Sam was out of college and money was a little freer.

"Hello." She glanced down at her unfaithful dog sitting at his feet, thumping his tail.

She was honestly surprised to see him in the house.

He no longer slept upstairs. Not since the day he explained what he'd been involved with and why he'd come back, he was keeping his distance. That bothered her because she could see he was wary around her, and wasn't quite sure why.

It bothered her to know she couldn't count on him being upstairs.

It made her wonder what he told Sam and Zoe when he stayed the nights at their house, and she wasn't about to embarrass herself by asking them. Maybe he didn't need to explain himself as much with Sheldon, but the uncertainty of never quite knowing when he'd reappear troubled her.

At least he hadn't left yet, even though she fully expected he's go back to Miami when someone from his and Sheldon's secret world called. He might like knowing he had a son and grandkids here, but as for staying here, she couldn't see that happening, even as she hoped she was wrong about that.

Sheldon had illuminated the past more accurately than Sam had done the day he explained what he'd been doing in the years he had been gone. But she didn't think this was requiem. He might be on dry land, and he might be a sailor home from the sea, but he didn't think he was retiring from anything.

"Well, hi there."

Amanda wasn't sure how to gauge his mood. She could see there was something on his mind, but she couldn't know what it was.

There was a manila folder and an envelope sitting in the place where she usually sat at the table, and there was a brown bottle of some kind of alcohol with an empty glass sitting next to it at the place he usually sat at the table. It seemed to her that he was deciding whether or not to open it and pour it in the glass.

"Been waiting for you. I brought you presents."

She slipped off her jacket and placed it on the back of the chair then sat down. "Am I supposed to look at this?"

He nodded. "Per your request."

She opened the envelope first. It was from a local physician's office and although it wasn't within her realm to understand the words or numbers, there wasn't much guessing what a report labeled CONFIDENTIAL for STD or HIV was.

"There you go. I'm clean as a whistle."

"All right." She felt heat crawl up her neck.

The file folder waited. She glanced over to him, then looked down at it and picked it up. "And this . . . ?"

Inside were photos, newspaper clippings of some woman and her husband in Tampa. Several different items, and all of the same nature, stories about charitable gifts, fund raisers. "I don't understand."

"Her name was Veronica. She looks a little like you, don't you think?"

"Yeah, but . . .?"

"She's not you."

"I don't . . ." Understand, she started to say because she didn't understand, and then with the blink of an eye, she did. That was the woman he wanted to marry him. But she was already married, so . . .

She frowned. "You want to marry someone who's already married?"

"I didn't know she was married. I never checked. I thought I'd start trying to figure out the rest of my life here."

"But . . ."

"I forgot a lot of things."

Amanda looked down at the paper again then closed the file.

When she looked at him again, she couldn't quite decipher the message in his eyes. And then, she could.

"She's not you."

He rose and came to stand in front of her. And all he did was to hold out his hand.

She could take it or not.

It was invitation.

She should say no.

It was temptation.

She should say no.

It was the only thing she had wanted for herself for years, and here he was, holding out his hand. Offering her what she wanted.

She should still say no.

It was years of remembering faded memories.

She knew her breathing had grown shallow and she could hear her heart thumping in her chest.

"She wasn't you."

She stood, sure of her decision, but not quite steady, and took his hand. He walked through the darkened house to her bedroom door and opened it, still holding her hand. As soon as she turned around, his lips found hers. And then her heart found his.

And without words, without anything more to guide them than the memory of hours once spent like this so long ago, Amanda silently renewed her marriage vows with her imperfect man, as Sam silently renewed his marriage vows with his imperfect woman. And the result was . . . perfect.

Each failed to mention that to the other.

Perhaps each held the silence because the risk of saying something that would spoil it was too great.

Or perhaps perfection needed no words.

That night a dog that possessed centuries of genetic history for the task, guarded the back door of their home, because neither of the humans inside had been capable of thinking to close and lock it before they entered their bedroom.

#

#

#

He wasn't in the bed in the morning.

But evidence of his presence in her bed was certainly there, from the scent of Old Spice on the sheets, to the small signs all over her body, from whisker burns on her neck to her chest and breasts, to her stomach, and . . . oh, my goodness . . . just what had she done?

She rolled over on her stomach, pulled a pillow on top of her head and groaned loudly into the mattress.

Last night might not have been one of her better ideas.

Or, it might have been the most brilliant idea of her last decade. When she tried to stand, she realized there wasn't a muscle group in her entire body that hadn't been exercised recently. She was sore all over. Pleasantly sore. Very, very pleasantly sore.

All over.

She listened for signs of movement in the house, and grabbed a robe as she sped around the corner from her bedroom to the bathroom and turned on the shower before she locked the door. She was standing under the water so long, primarily because she kept wandering back to the past hours when she hadn't been sleeping, that the water finally turned cold and startled her.

The thorough chill she'd given herself abated under the blow dryer, and when she peeked beyond the bathroom door, she didn't see him. Maybe he was in the kitchen. By the time she was dressed, had made the bed and went to find him she came to another startling conclusion: he was gone.

A quick trip up the back stairs to the loft area revealed he was truly gone.

Nothing of his remained in the house.

Not downstairs, not upstairs.

The only things he'd left for her were the file and the envelope from the doctor's office and they'd been left in plain sight on her dresser. She'd managed to overlook them the first time she checked the house was because she was panicking that he'd left without saying good-bye.

And after last night . . .

She was flooded with relief when she spotted the small note she missed earlier on the table. "Going to Miami to get my stuff and finish some business there. Back soon. Love, Sam."

Love, Sam.

Could that be true?

Did she want it to be true?

By God's mercy, yes.

#

#

#

"Okay, let's see the young one," Sam said.

She'd been napping when he'd arrived and Dani had just gone in the bedroom turned into nursery to retrieve her.

Jesse was smiling, giddily happy, and Dani's smiles matched his. Their daughter was a breathtakingly beautiful child with huge blue eyes and so much delicate dark hair Dani could almost put a bow in it.

And fortunately, Dani, who had a similar problem with her blood pressure as Zoe, had not suffered the same life-challenging event Zoe had. Now that they were home and comfortable, they were adjusting to their new lives as parents.

Dani laughed. "We're both a bit obsessive about planning, but I don't think we anticipated a single thing that happened when Elizabeth was born."

The beautiful baby girl was being named for her grandmother, Jesse's mother.

"Everything happened so fast," Jesse said. "We had been worried . . ."

"Because they tried to scare us before she was born because of our ages -" Dani inserted.

" . . . that she wouldn't be perfect, that there would be problems, that either her health or Dani's would be compromised and here she is. Perfect."

"I can only agree," Sam said, smiling.

"They did that to us, too," Fiona said. "I think it put me in a bad mood."

Michael moved Gabe to his other shoulder and patted the young man's back gently as he stood and swayed with his fussy young one who seemed to be getting his first tooth. "Bad mood, Fi?"

"All right, all right. A really bad mood."

He chuckled and so did Dani and Jesse.

"What'd I miss?" Sam asked. "Why haven't I heard this story already?"

"Because I threatened him if he told you," Fiona said. "And he believed me. For a while. Then he told Madeline, and then she told Nate and then . . . "

Michael interrupted. "Picture a delivery room with a beautiful woman laboring to give birth when out of her mouth, spills irrational Gaelic. _Angry_ _Gaelic_. Crude Gaelic. Lots of colorful, irrational, crude, angry Gaelic. But that was okay," he said dryly. "One of the nurses translated. Word for word. She was Irish, too.

"The first time it happened, that nurse laughed and when the doctor asked her what was so funny she told him she'd never heard a mother say that to a father in the delivery room, so . . ."

Fiona interrupted to defend herself. "I find it rational to swear when in pain."

". . . so," Michael continued, "after that, whatever she said something, the doctor and the other nurse would turn her and ask her to translate which she did. Word for word. I learned a couple of words I'd never heard before."

Sam leaned back in his chair and took a drink of iced tea. Fiona Glenanne Westen was actually blushing. There was something he never thought he'd ever see.

"I'm afraid to ask," Sam said, "but what did you say, Fi?"

She wouldn't look at him.

"Oh, she had several suggestions for me. About where I should . . . align certain parts of my anatomy," Michael said. "And that was the crux of it for a good, oh, fifty minutes before Gabe put in an appearance. She was a lot sweeter after that."

"Michael Gabriel is just like his father," Fiona said, still quite pink, "it took him forever to make up his mind to do something."

"Fi," Sam said, laughing. "I like that color on you."

Jesse was grinning. "Dani was too focused to talk let alone swear when Lizzy was born. I think I'm grateful."

Dani adjusted the privacy blanket so her daughter could nurse. "You're just lucky I don't know that many words."

At least Fiona laughed then.

"So how long are you here for?" Jesse wondered.

Sam had arrived three weeks ago and had been busy taking care of closing down his life in Miami to relocate it to North Carolina.

"Not much longer. I may need to use one of Fi's old friends to make sure some of my stuff in my storage locker can be shipped home. I need to finish paying outstanding bar tabs. And I've been talking to Raines. The pension won't cut it."

"Then what?"

"Then . . . life goes on." Sam held his hands up. "I can't tell you how much I'm going to miss you, but . . . my family is there and I've already lost too much time with them. I'd like to bring you all with me . . . but your lives are here. I know that. By the way, whatever came from your visit with Sheldon? He hasn't said two words about it."

Jesse and Mike exchanged glances as did Fiona and Dani.

"He's a stubborn old guy," Jesse said.

"Yeah, he can be."

"So in a month or so when Lizzy's old enough to take a trip, you'll get to see the bunch of us. We're coming to check out Sheldon's operation for a longer period of time. When you called him about his daughter, well . . . we understand prioritizing, maybe better than we used to," Jesse said.

"Aw, that's great news. I'd love to introduce you all to my family. Just let me know when, okay?"

"Absolutely," Fiona said.

#

#

#

"Mom, he's coming back. He went to Miami to close accounts and pack up and ship some of his stuff here. He said he was going to pay off bar tabs, too, but I'm not sure I believe that. I've yet to see him take a drink. It's taking him longer than he expected, that's all. He'll be back."

Amanda patted her son's arm. "Okay. Sorry."

"Hey, are you okay? I hope you aren't coming down with that flu the boys had last week."

"Yes, I'm fine, really. Have you talked to him lately?"

"Two days ago. You mean you haven't?"

"Not really. I think I may need a new cell phone or something."

"It's not like you can't afford to get a new one," Sam said dryly.

"I know. But it's a habit, and it still works."

"It's not safe for you. Time to retire the brick, Mom," her son suggested gently. "You need a more reliable phone than that thing."

"I suppose, but you know I like old things."

Sam grinned. "Yeah. Old houses. Old vehicles. Old jeans. Old dogs . . . old husbands."

"Okay, I'll go phone shopping," she said. "Stop embarrassing me."

Sam just laughed at her.

Amanda spread hugs and kisses around to everyone in the room. She'd been spending every afternoon at Zoe and Sam's house, helping with laundry, dishes, cooking, all the fundamental tasks that kept a household and a family functioning.

"I'll see you all tomorrow afternoon, and Zoe, I'll bring the photos of that cake. Maybe you can figure out what I should do next. It's just . . . incomplete somehow."

After she heard Amanda's Jeep in the driveway, she went over to the window to watch her leave and drive up the road to her house. "Something is not right, Sammy. I can feel it in my bones."

Sam walked over to where she stood by the window watching the top of the hill to get a glimpse of his mother's garage door opening. From this elevation, it was about the only thing he could see up the hill. And there it was. When it closed he kissed Zoe and leaned down to kiss their sweet baby girl's forehead. "You worry too much."

#

#

#

The cake was an incomplete work of art. Zoe had looked at the photos and had agreed with Amanda.

"It's missing something."

"I know. I just can't figure out what it is," Amanda agreed.

"Can I come by and look at it? I need to get out of the house so I'm going to make Sammy drive me to the Cakery tomorrow. He can take the boys for haircuts while we're figuring out what to do about it."

"Great," Amanda said.

And when Zoe and her entourage appeared after lunch the next day, Amanda had to laugh. While Zoe inspected the cake and the decorating tips Amanda had laid out, Sam, Jacob and Noah investigated the cupcake cupboard. It was a retail way to promote their cakes and flavors that, surprisingly, had taken off on its own and was becoming more popular by the week. They might have to open a store front, but that decision needed some more study.

"Cupcakes after haircuts, guys," Zoe directed.

"So, what do you think?" Amanda wondered, as Zoe handed her sweet baby girl to her.

Zoe walked over to a counter and opened drawers. "If I were a dragée where would I be?"

"Third drawer on your left," Amanda said.

"Oh, yes."

She brought the container back to the counter and began using long forceps type tweezers to apply the small, edible silver decorative balls to the cake edges to follow the raised circular swirls on both the flat and upright surfaces. An hour worth of careful application concluded the task and the result was quite lovely.

"Perfect, I'd say," Zoe commented. "Just the finishing touch it needed."

"I agree," Amanda said, as she started gathering the supplies they'd used to take to the dishwasher.

During the hour they'd worked, baby Amanda had been napping in her sturdy car seat within sight of her mother and grandmother while they put the finishing touches on the cake.

"I'm guessing Noah is fussing again, or else the boys would be back," Zoe said, as she watched Amanda rearrange items in the commercial dishwasher.

"He doesn't like haircuts, does he?" Amanda said as she took a wobbly step and caught herself from falling. One hand went to the countertop and the other to her abdomen.

Zoe looked at her mother-in-law, the woman who was mother and friend to her and recognized what she was seeing.

Amanda glanced at Zoe, then looked away quickly, embarrassed. Her hand was still on splayed protectively across her abdomen.

"Manda," Zoe began softly. "Have you been to the doctor yet?"

Amanda shook her head no, straightened up, then closed her eyes.

"You should go."

"I know."

Zoe pulled the dishwasher door shut and moved next to Amanda and put her arm around her waist. "Are you happy about this?" she wondered.

Amanda looked over to her. "It will probably sound crazy to everyone, but yes. I am. I just worry . . . "

"You worry what everyone will say."

She rolled her eyes. "Especially Sam."

Zoe smiled. "Not my Sam, yours."

"Yes."

"Manda, I won't mention this to anyone, I promise, but please promise me you'll take care of yourself and go to the doctor."

"Yes. I will."

"How . . . ?"

"Six maybe seven weeks," she said, then looked at the dear girl her son had loved since the first time he saw her when he was six. "I'm fifty-two years old and I'm happy to be pregnant. There must be something wrong with me."

"I don't think so," Zoe said. "But this is going to be so fun to watch Sammy and Sam."

"Oh. I hadn't thought that far yet."

"How are you feeling now?"

"Green."

Zoe laughed. "I know that feeling. I'm calling daddy. He and Sammy can deliver this cake. They know how to set them up as well as we do."

"Okay." Amanda gave Zoe a hug. "What in the world would I do without you?"

"You know I ask myself that same question about you all the time."

#

#

#

There was no big announcement, but Sam Axe could read a prescription label and understand.

He looked inside the package and counted, then looked at the front and the receipt and said to the pharmacy clerk, "I think there's been a mistake."

The clerk looked and realized what had happened. "Oh, I see. Yes, you're right. We'll have to be very careful to check now that there are two Amandas. Here, let me . . . "

He interrupted the clerk. "Don't bother. One Amanda is my mom, the other is my daughter. I've already signed for both prescriptions. I'll just take my mom's to her, okay?"

The clerk, who was new, checked with the pharmacist and glanced up and smiled. "Yeah, he's trustworthy."

The both served in the same National Guard unit. "Thanks," Sam said, as he left the store and headed to his mother's house.

He really couldn't stop smiling once he realized what he was taking to his mother. He pulled up behind her truck and saw her in the garden area to the side of the house. It was late summer and she was rescuing the last of her tomatoes before a hard frost.

"Hey, Mom. Those look good."

"Want some to take home? I think I'm going to freeze these."

Sam had helped carry the baskets of tomatoes to the garden bench inside the garage where she gave him late season cucumbers, pepper and squash to also take home. He'd taken the vegetables to his truck and followed his mother inside to wash his hands.

When he first came inside, he'd placed the prescription package on the table. As he finished washing his hands, he turned around and saw her staring at the package on the table.

When she glanced up at him, she was clearly embarrassed as evidenced by her perfectly pink face, neck and arms.

Sam couldn't stop smiling. "After today, I don't think they'll mix up the Amanda Axe prescriptions. They'll have to double check the birth dates."

She held the package of prenatal vitamins in her hand. "You must think I'm crazy."

"I'm thinking Amanda is going to be older than her aunt or uncle."

"Sam, I - "

Sam stepped across the room to give his mother a hug. "Are you happy about this?"

"I'm not supposed to be, am I? There's some rule that says a woman my age shouldn't be pregnant, but . . . I am."

He kissed his mother's forehead. "Then everything will be fine. Just take care of yourself, okay?"

#

#

#

It was another three weeks before Sam returned to the Axe driveway. The white Cadillac he'd been driving had morphed into a black Chevy Tahoe with all wheel drive. It was stuffed full of his life in Miami and the Navy.

It was past ten when he arrived, so he parked, hit the electronic door lock and unlocked the the back door to the house. Diesel was turning circles welcoming him home. The lights were on in the house, but Amanda wasn't in the living room. He didn't find her until he peeked in her bedroom where she was sprawled across the bed.

He walked back through the house, dousing lights, petting Diesel before he went into her bedroom and shed his clothing and joined her in the bed. It was a standard double bed, and as cozy as it was to share sleeping space with Amanda, they needed a larger bed. First thing tomorrow. She turned in her sleep and put her arms around him as if she was dreaming.

And maybe she had been. But this didn't feel like a dream, and the tang of Old Spice seemed too fresh to be a dream.

She opened her eyes and found his. "Oh, you're back," she smiled in welcome and worked both of her arms around his shoulders. Then soon, the space between them disappeared until the only thing left was the distance.

Amanda had almost, almost forgotten what it was like to fall asleep in his arms.

She'd graduated from high school just a few weeks before she met him. One of her friends who'd lived down the road from her while she was growing up was back from the military on leave, and Mack brought a friend with him. They'd gone through training together, and were in the same unit, he'd said. They had already stopped to see Sam's parents before they came to visit Mack's mom. They'd be leaving soon on the same assignment and that's all she could remember of those details.

Everything else was crystal clear.

He'd melted her heart with a smile and a wink within moments, and they found themselves next to each other for the rest of the evening. Mack's girlfriend was happy to see him, too, so the four of them went to the movies and paired off. She remembered spending most of the time in that dark theatre making out with him instead of watching _Grease._

She still couldn't watch that movie without blushing.

Between them, they had way too many hormones to make sense of anything except each other. She couldn't remember when Mack and his girlfriend left, but she had a very clear memory of how she and Sam had spent the rest of that night.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

#

#

#

Her father was visiting his brother in Asheville, so the nearest place of privacy was the house on the hill where she'd grown up, where she lived. They didn't make it past the kitchen when he'd dropped his hand and held it out to her. It was obvious what they were about to do, but still, he asked.

"Do you want to—?"

That was as much as she allowed him to say before she led him to her bedroom.

When she looked back on that moment in time, she realized how much she had stepped outside of herself. Amanda Cross, the good girl who loved her father and went to church twice on Sunday and every Wednesday night, was an unmarried woman leading a man she had met mere hours ago to her bedroom.

But there was something between them that couldn't be defined, that made it seem right, made it necessary and important.

Maybe the reason she mourned him so was because that night had been exactly what any woman's first time should be, in the best and sweetest of ways. Morning found her smiling and full of happy thoughts. And, somewhere between kiss five thousand and two, and seven thousand and one he said, "I think we should get married. You didn't tell me you were—"

She hushed him then with another kiss. "But not any more. And yes, we should."

"Tell me your last name again," he said softly.

Before noon that day, they were married. It had been a remarkably easy thing for two near-strangers to do, and by the next day, when her father returned, she introduced Sam to her father as her husband.

The moment began with tension, but Sam charmed him with what seemed to be a sincere apology that he hadn't properly asked for her father's permission first.

Her dad seemed pleased with the situation, which surprised her. Later, she would understand why he approved, even if he might not have done so if circumstances of his life had been different.

Sam couldn't stay another day. He and Mack had to report back to their base in Virginia Beach. He'd explained he might not be able to stay in touch as often as she'd like, but he'd promised her he would be back and she believed him.

And he was. Three months later, he returned with devastating news about his own family. His parents, who had lived near Greensboro, had died in a house fire nearly a month earlier while he'd been somewhere doing something he couldn't talk about. He'd gone straight there to see the destruction for himself. His elderly aunt arranged the funerals and burials for his parents when she realized she wouldn't be able to get in touch with him.

By the time he returned to Amanda's hill top, she was dealing with a crisis of her own. Her father was not well, and he was resisting going to the doctor. Because her mother had died in an automobile accident when Amanda was a child, and with no other family, the caretaking of her father, home and property had fallen to her. And, she had just learned the frightening news that their property, their home, had been put up for sale for the balance of unpaid taxes. Her father had foolishly hidden the notices from her because he didn't want her to worry, he'd said.

She and Sam greeted each other with news of death and debt instead of warmth and love. Sam had spoken with her father and left. When he returned, the property had been purchased by her new husband.

"Call it a wedding gift from my parents," he'd said sweetly and sadly.

She remembered holding his face in her hands and kissing him until he shut his eyes and then she'd kissed the tears there. She wanted him to believe the sincerity of her gratitude for what he had done because he'd spent his entire inheritance of what remained from his parents to pay the tax on her family's property.

He had three weeks of leave time, and they spent the days slowly, wandering the hills around the house, hand in hand, taking time to learn about each other's lives, taking time to learn what they hadn't taken time to learn about one other before they married.

They learned things, such as they were both only children.

She learned of his taste for adventure and how he found it satisfying to have accomplished becoming a SEAL, and how much more wanted to do, while he learned her ambitions were closer to home. She wanted to open a bakery. She wanted children. Ond day, they'd found an oversized tractor tire alongside the road, apparently lost off the back of a semi, and he'd helped her find a way to bring it back to the house. The perfect sandbox, she'd told him and he'd laughed about that.

She listened to him, heard his words but she couldn't measure his feelings for her beyond what he said. The ache in her heart grew as she realized she'd fallen deeply in love with him and had yet to learn if he felt the same.

The next time he returned, it was to accompany Mack home for extended leave time. Mack had been injured, and Sam had saved his life. After a week, Sam left again while Mack stayed at his mother's place.

Two months after that, he returned. With her father in Asheville again, they had privacy, a privacy that allowed luxuries they couldn't have enjoyed without it, such as spending almost an entire week in bed, talking, making love, sleeping. She did not want him to leave, but of course, he did.

And when he left that time, he did not return. Then she discovered she was pregnant. She still hadn't heard from him when their son was born on his father's birthday.

Even before Sam's first birthday, she'd started searching for his father. She'd visited Navy recruiting offices and called with questions about how to find him but learned if they were married and he had not yet filed paperwork indicating she was a spouse, there was nothing they could do. They couldn't help her.

Then she bumped into Mack who was full of information, and back home to recover from another injury. He joked that he was accident prone, and invited her for a drink in a bar. She'd accepted but only to grill him about Sam. That's when she learned Mack couldn't account for Sam's whereabouts, either. She told Mack she needed to see Sam, and he'd promised to tell him when he saw him again.

By the time she observed her son's second birthday, Amanda was almost convinced she had been abandoned. The only link she had to her husband was Mack, and the only person who might know where Mack was, was his mother. She called her so often, the woman became annoyed until once when she could tell her Mack was home.

She directed her to a bar where she could find Mack. Since Sam left, not only had his son grown older, so had she. She was now old enough to enter a bar and stay. Sam had been gone for a little longer than two years. She wanted to know where he was and how to get in touch with him. She figured Mack should be able to tell her that much. She had not had anything to drink but by the time she stopped at her house to let her father know she would be taking a woozy Mack home, he met her at the door. Several people had already called him to let him know where his daughter had been seen.

He'd met her at the door and ordered her away. "Come home when you don't smell like cigarette smoke and booze," he'd told her. "The boy stays here. God knows you don't deserve him or that husband of yours."

Her father had never spoken like that to her. She was startled, hurt and angry at the same time. But mostly, she was sad, and she could not leave her son. Could not. But, to her everlasting shame, she did for a very brief time.

Finally, Mack told her the truth about Sam. The last time he saw Sam he'd watched him follow a woman into a bar in San Francisco two years earlier. Her heart bled at that news, and then she entered what she knew was the strangest period of her life.

By day she waited tables, by night she found her way inside her father's house to watch her child sleep. She brought groceries and left them in the cupboards and refrigerator. She took dirty laundry with her and returned it clean. And then she'd go back and stay with Mack. He had an apartment by now, and he'd offered so she'd taken that as a safe harbor to avoid her father's anger.

But it all came to an ugly, ugly end when Sam returned.

He'd gone to the house, but her father directed him to Mack's mother's house. She'd pointed him in direction of the apartment where Mack and Amanda were. When he started pounding on the door, she saw through the peep glass who it was and called his name. She was trying to unlock the door when he pushed his way through, breaking the lock, and the cheap, hollow core door away from its hinges and frame.

She had been stunned by his reaction and him. He seemed bigger, taller, stronger somehow, and he was angry. Very, very angry.

She knew things looked bad, but they were not what they seemed. She could explain, but he was not in the mood for explanations. She reached to touch his arm but he shook her away.

"Surprise," he'd said, stalking into the apartment.

"Where have you been?" she'd asked, following him. "I've been trying to find you! I want to—"

Mack appeared and the next thing she knew, Sam had him by the throat of the T-shirt he wore. "Well, hello, friend." He rammed a fist into Mack's jaw, and Mack dropped to the floor. "I should have let you die."

"Sam," she remembered pleading. "Please don't. Please let me . . ."

He was twisting his wedding ring off and held it up to her. "Here. This damned noose is yours. If you _ever _see me again, give it back and I'll let you know if you're worth keeping."

"Sam, please, no. I love you. Please . . ."

"Too late."

He walked out of her life then, as if he'd never been there. But he had. And all she had to do to know that was look at their son. The son she'd never had a chance to tell him about.

Witnessing the entire loud, door-breaking event was the apartment manager across the hall. The woman had already started figuring the cost to replace the lock, the door and the frame. In the next second, she was telling the story of what happened to everyone she knew.

Amanda Cross Axe was tarnished, and there wasn't anything she could do about anything. That's when a cold calm settled on her shoulders.

She'd helped Mack sit up and made sure he was okay and could stand before she gathered her things and went back to her home. Her father was waiting and angry, and it just didn't matter to her if he was yelling at her, because she ignored him.

She went inside and found Sam asleep in his crib, then sat on the floor next to him and wept silent tears until she could weep no more.

And then she got on with the rest of her life.

Her scarred, shattered, imperfect life.

Her father died not long after that, and that was when she discovered that Sam Axe had given her not one, but two great and wonderful gifts.

The first was his son. The second was the word _or_.

That _or_ had saved her and Sam. Several times. As in Samuel _OR_ Amanda Cross Axe. _O__r_ was a powerful legal word, and she had yet to tell him about CrossAxe, Inc.

In the years he had been gone from her life, she'd vacillated between intense anger and intense sorrow.

She lived through long periods of utter loss that slid into longer periods of finely honed anger because he never allowed her a chance for explanation.

He had never been far from her thoughts. It wasn't possible, not with his son so real, so wonderful, so near.

That had been especially true since his father always had been so far away, wherever the land of faraway was.

#

#

#

"This bed has to go. It's too small," Sam said as he rolled over and realized Amanda was not next to him. But the sheets were warm. She couldn't be far. He got up and tugged on his boxers and went looking for her. She was in the bathroom, sitting on the floor, embracing cold white porcelain.

"Oh, no. Can I get you anything?"

She held up a finger, paused and waited then blew out a slow breath. "Water. Soda cracker. Please."

He looked around and when he didn't see a glass or cup in the bathroom. "Be right back."

He opened the cupboard door with the glassware and grabbed a plastic cup, then opened doors until he found the crackers and opened a package. As he put them back, he knocked a prescription drug bottle and it fell. He picked it up and read the label.

Then he stopped to look at it more carefully.

It was dated a week ago, and it was clearly hers. But the confusing word was _prenatal_.

Then he turned it around and looked at it again. One plus two plus three. Water, plus soda cracker, plus prenatal vitamin.

He'd seen Fiona's.

And Dani's.

Amanda?

No. She couldn't be.

Could she?

He walked back into the bathroom and handed her the glass with water. After she'd taken a sip, he handed her the soda cracker. Then he sat on the floor next to her and looked into her eyes.

He held up the bottle between two fingers. She glanced at it, closed her eyes briefly then opened them again to look into his eyes.

"Prenatal?" he asked.

"Uh huh."

"But we only . . ."

She could see him thinking back. Yes, that was when. "Congratulations, Sam."

"Oh, no. No, no, no."

If she could have, she would have slugged him. Instead, everything she just put in her stomach made a return trip.

He got up and left the room, and left Amanda to her morning sickness while he went into the bedroom and retrieved his pants.

He was standing at the kitchen counter holding a glass with a generous splash of very fine whiskey in it and was debating drinking it when he heard Sam's Jeep in the driveway and wondered what in the hell he'd be doing here at this hour.

Sam bounded up the back steps and came in the door. He greeted Diesel then looked at his father and grinned.

It could have been his state of dress—jeans pulled on, not buttoned, no shirt, bare feet.

It could have been the glazed look in his father's eyes, as if he'd received news he couldn't yet comprehend.

Or it could have been that it was 6:53 in the morning and his father was holding a glass of whiskey and he'd yet to see the man take a drink of anything.

"Hey, _Pops_," he said with exaggerated glee. "Glad you made it back from Miami. What a homecoming, huh? I've always wanted a kid brother or sister. Thanks for making that happen. Glad I'm finally getting one before my kids get to be teenagers." He laughed then, and laughed even more when Sam downed the drink with one swallow.

Sam looked at his son and growled. "I am 54 years old, I have gray hair and I'm retired. I'm a _grandfather._"

"Oh yeah? Well, you know what they say? There might be snow on the roof, but there's fire in the furnace."

The younger Axe laughed loudly then, as the older Axe looked as if further provocation would involve physical contact of an aggressive nature.

"Is Mom still in the bathroom?"

Sam nodded.

He looked at his watch. "She'll be okay soon. I understand her morning sickness never lasts long. Tell her Zoe needs her help around noon. She'll know what that's about. And, hey, Dad, congratulations."

"Smart ass."

His son had the nerve to laugh at him again.

#

#

#

He was still standing in the same spot when he heard water running in the bathroom, then heard her in the bedroom. He went that direction and watched her move cautiously, getting dressed.

"Is the morning sickness gone . . . ?"

"It's only the first hour of the day, and then strangely, I'm better."

"That's good, right?"

"I suppose so."

"Sam said to tell you Zoe needs help around noon. He said you'd know what that means."

"Thank you."

"I didn't mean it, Amanda. I'm sorry."

"It was pretty clear to me that you're not hap— "

"It was kind of a shock!" As soon as he'd said it, he realized he'd said that too quickly and too loudly, and both elements made it open for misinterpretation.

She turned around and looked at him, incredulously. "Are you kidding? You're trying to tell _me_ that? Tell you what. Let's trade bodies for the next six months."

"I just don't think this is a very good idea." Okay, so that was a bit defensive, and saying it that way was also not a good idea.

"What's not a good idea?" she snapped.

"Having a kid at our ages."

"Oh, really," she drawled. "What do you suggest we do then?"

"I'm not suggesting anything. Except . . ."

She stopped, turned back around and put both fists on both hips. Her hair was down and soft around her shoulders, and the pink oversized t-shirt she wore clung to her sweet shape and distracted him for a moment. _"Except?"_ she ground out the question.

He grinned at her then. "Damn, you're cute."

Too late, he realized he shouldn't have said that out loud, either. Worse, it did not have the disarming affect it could have. It had no affect at all on her. But the affect she was having on him was fully effective, which was how they got in this situation in the first place.

_"Except?"_

He debated saying the first thing that popped into his brain when he remembered that wasn't always the wisest thing to do. Still, it was honest, so he said exactly what he was thinking. Or most of what he was thinking because the other part of him wanted to lock the back door and close the bedroom door, but she probably wasn't interested.

"Except I've never done this before!"

That deflated her steam. She grinned. "Oh, well, you're in luck. I have."

He crossed the room and stood in front of her. "I probably should have taken precautions, when we . . . you know, so . . ."

She smiled then. "I'm glad you didn't. Does that make any sense to you?"

"It does. Does this?" He pulled her into his arms and kissed her soundly before burying his face in her neck to kiss her there.

"You've been drinking something." She walked backward to the bed and when they fell into it, she wrapped her arms around his neck then lowered her hands to his cheeks and looked into his eyes. "Does anything about this make you happy? I know I'm not supposed to be, but I am."

He sighed and agreed. "I think I am. But your kid is a real smart ass."

She laughed then. "He must have inherited that from you."

#

#

#

"Now, Manda, you know that man is pond scum. I have no ethical problem with this at all, but I understand why you do. Hand me that narrow spatula."

The cake was chocolate on chocolate, and the icing appeared black because the chocolate had been tinted with paste blue and black food colorings. It was intended to celebrate a divorce that was being finalized today. Zoe agreed to make the specialty cake over Amanda's objections. In her opinion the woman deserved to celebrate the end of unhappiness.

"It's just wrong to . . . make money on a tragedy." Amanda had positioned the pegs to mount the tiers, and Zoe was finishing the last bit of touch up on the three tiered cake when the back door to the Cakery opened.

"Just in time, Sammy. If we hurry, we can have lunch like grown-ups after we deliver this and still be back to get the kids before our sweet girl wakes up.

"Hey, Mom." He gave his mother a hug.

She hugged him back. "I'll clean up here."

That task didn't take long, and gave Amanda a chance to get a pedicure, her girlie girl pleasure, before returning home. She found herself relaxing with a nice warm foot spa when she realized the normal murmur of female conversation around her had ceased. All was silent except for the background music.

She opened her eyes and looked up and frowned at the man who was smiling at her. "I thought I asked you . . ."

He held out his hand. "Give me your phone."

"What?"

"Your phone, Amanda. I've been calling you all morning."

She reached into her purse and looked at it and frowned. "It's on."

"It's being replaced."

"Ah, now . . ."

"Don't argue or I'll tell everyone why," he said softly, quietly, as he took it from her, leaned down and kissed her lips quickly and left, once again oblivious to the number of women who thoroughly enjoyed watching his exit.

Rosalee tapped the calf of her leg. "Foot up." Amanda complied and put one foot on a towel covered foot rest and watched him get into his truck. He'd parked next to hers.

"So when's the baby due?"

Amanda's gaze narrowed on her friend. She debated then opted for obfuscating.

"Zoe just had her baby, you know that."

"Not talking about Zoe. Talking about you. So when are you turning that man in to a daddy again?" Amanda was grateful for Rosalee's very quiet questions.

"I didn't . . ."

"You shut off the massage before you got in the chair."

Amanda sighed. "Yeah, I guess that's a clue."

"Is everything fixed between the two of you?"

"I hope so."

"Me, too, friend. So what are we doing today?"

"Peacock blue with a layer of silver sparkles."

"Oh, nice."

#

#

#

A delivery truck was leaving the driveway as Amanda pulled up to the house.

"What did you buy?" she wondered when she walked through the back door.

"A bigger bed."

He seemed a bit grumpy, but he handed her a new phone. It was small and white. "If you can't figure something out, ask Zoe. Her phone is almost the same as this one. All your numbers are there. Just hit the PEOPLE button and tap on the person's name."

"Thanks." She took a seat at the table; he was standing at the kitchen counter with his arms crossed over his chest. It was obvious something was on his mind.

"What's the matter?"

He frowned. "I thought when I got here five months ago, it was neat thing you did with the mailbox, with those axe handles crossed. I didn't realize it was an industry."

"Oh. Well, it's not. CrossAxe leases land, but because we were making too much money, we diversified and now we help start-ups. I was go—"

"Start-ups like the furniture store where I bought the bed. I was a little confused when he started thanking me for the store, not for buying the bed."

"I was going to tell you about it."

"Anytime soon?"

"You just got back last night, and I had a couple of other things on my mind." Amanda could feel her temper rising. This wasn't exactly how she'd envisioned this conversation beginning.

"Yeah, well so did I."

"I don't like your tone, Sam. That's not necessary. I was going to explain—"

"That you're Donald Trump in drag?"

His sarcastic remark was spontaneous combustion. It kindled embers of an old fire that erupted into a flash fire of long quelled, unspoken anger. Amanda flounced up off her chair, crossed the room and slapped his face.

He seemed shocked.

"That was mean, just as mean as it was when you came back and knocked out Mack and broke that door. You didn't give either him or me a chance to explain anything, not then, and now you're doing the same thing about CrossAxe! I am not doing this, I am _so not doing_ _this._ You want answers, then . . . then go ask . . . go ask Sheldon. You trust him, not me. He'll tell you the truth because you're not interested in hearing it from me. Just remember one thing, though . . . I tried to find you for two and a half years to let you know about Sam, and the only person who could tell me anything about where the hell you were was Mack."

Sam was holding his cheek, glaring at her. "Talk about not nice."

"Get out, Sam. Right now." Amanda was done, all done. She shook her head. "And don't come back. I mean it. I don't need to live with someone who believes the worst about me first and always."

He didn't hesitate. He just walked out the door. It would have been nice if he'd thought about that or paused for a second, she thought, and because he had not, she recovered every bit of stubbornness she possessed. She'd lost it there for a while, thinking they might be able to make this work, but no. No.

No man was going to talk to her in that tone of voice with that much disrespect and get away with it. No.

Diesel sat in the middle of the room, watching the door and watching Amanda.

"You want to go with him? Fine."

She opened the door and let Diesel out.

Then she closed and locked the door, pulled the shades and called a locksmith.

She asked him to come in his car, not his van emblazoned with a logo with oversized keys.

He was happy to help the woman who helped him set up his business, because not many people would take a risk on helping someone who had paid his debt to society and wanted to start over.

#

#

#

"Let's sit out back," Sheldon invited once Sam explained why he was there.

From the lower level of the cabin, there was a broad concrete deck that was set naturally inside the hill facing the woods. There was a patio set facing a fire pit and Sheldon used a long-necked lighter to ignite the fire that was waiting. He'd brought along an aluminum carafe filled with coffee and two mugs.

Sam stretched out his legs and watched Diesel keep watch on the woods behind the house. He explained what had happened, and that Amanda had directed him to not return.

"Oh, yeah. That would make her angry," Sheldon mused. "You insulted her integrity."

"No, I didn't . . ." Sam said, frowning, before he seemed to realize he had indeed insulted his wife's integrity.

Sheldon watched him figure that one out. "She's always told me you gave her two wonderful gifts. The first would be Sam, of course, and the second was the word _or_. She took care of both of those gifts for you."

"Please," Sam asked him quietly. "Please explain."

"She told me that soon after your marriage she learned her father had been hiding the county treasurer's tax sale letters, and by the time she discovered the situation, the property was actually for sale. You used a family inheritance and paid the taxes which meant you put the house and land in your name or hers. The word _or_, for a property title, is significant. It gave her the ability to take care of herself and Sam. Since you didn't."

He couldn't say anything for a minute or two because it didn't take much math to figure out what she'd accomplished.

Sheldon continued when Sam seemed unable to speak. "When her father died, having the property titled that way avoided an estate sale. Because there was so much land with the house, it allowed Amanda to come up with some creative uses for it and find a source of income."

"The guy at the furniture store—"

Sheldon interrupted. "That part of the business came much later. Sam was a toddler when she realized she had no way to pay the taxes on the property again. So in typical Amanda fashion, before she could figure out what to do next, she started by finding a description of the property and understanding what she owned. Before that, she only thought the house and yard were hers.

"What she didn't know was that house sits in the middle of a very large parcel, and all this, including most of the undeveloped property areas around here, belongs to CrossAxe. So when you purchased this for her father and put the property in your name and hers, the timing was on the cusp of a growth boom that's since slowed. Amanda wisely retained the property but leased it. She used the lease income to live on; she always has, and because she's so conservative, she . . . you both, really, are quite well off.

"All those steady payments supported her and Sam, paid for his college. For a wedding gift, she gave Sam and Zoe their house and some money for improvements, as well as the property around it. As for this place, the CIA has been paying the lease on this land for years, but of course, you wouldn't recognize the shell company the funds travel through."

"How did she figure . . . ?"

Sheldon laughed. "Axe, you are not the only person with good instincts. And that's as much as I'm going to tell you. You'll have to ask Amanda for the rest of the story.

"That might not happen soon. She kicked me out. Maybe I deserve it."

Sheldon glanced over at his guests. "Maybe you do, but Diesel picked you. Hmm. That's interesting."

Sam slouched down in the chair. "What does that mean?"

"You haven't been paying attention. You know, Axe, you're kind of a mess in your personal life."

"I've figured that out."

"It's a start," Sheldon said. "Haven't you noticed? That dog always finds the person in trouble, the one who needs the most help. Great Pyrenees are herding dogs. Very protective animals. If you let him, he'll herd you right back to where you belong."

"I don't think she'll let me in."

"Well, you'll have to go see if you can play on Zoe's heart strings. She'll let you stay there."

"Think so?"

"Maybe."

#

#

#

"Okay, bed's made, but do _not _make this a habit," Zoe emphasized. "Manda needs you. You need to figure out how to fix whatever you messed up and go home."

Zoe had not been happy to see him, but she also wasn't going to turn him away. He would not tell her what happened, only that they disagreed and Amanda had told him to leave, and he needed to find a way back into her good graces.

Diesel was assigned to the porch and not allowed inside the house. "I am not going to be picking up white furballs, not with my sweet baby girl here. That dog does not get to sleep at the end of your bed," she'd told him.

He was beginning to think Amanda and Zoe were cut from the same piece of cloth. If not, they had a lot of similarities. Sam the younger had no comment at all. He just walked around with a big grin on his face and shook his head whenever he looked at his father.

Zoe had rescued him, if he could call it that.

"Sammy, quit giving your dad a hard time. You know he's a newlywed; he doesn't know how to do anything yet."

"Newlywed?" Sam had to ask her.

"Yeah. How long did you and Manda live together before, you know, you abandoned her?"

"Abandoned? Seriously? I was in the Navy."

"So what? You left. How long?"

Sam thought back and realized she was right. "Maybe two months."

"I rest my case. And, I'm going to bed."

Sam was looking at his father's somewhat chagrined expression. "You know, she's right. We've been married longer than you and Mom, for all practical purposes."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah. And we've known each other since we were kids. We've grown up. We try not to hurt each other."

And with that, the wise and experienced husband and father in the room left his father and went to bed.

#

#

#

Amanda hated to admit it, but she was enjoying playing with her new phone. She especially liked the photos that Zoe had somehow loaded there for her to see. Cakes and kids and Sam and Diesel. It was perfect.

The first time her phone rang, it took her a moment to figure out how to answer it, because she wasn't used to holding a computer that small in her hand and talking on it. It was Zoe, and the moment the call came, her photo appeared on the screen.

"I can see your picture on my phone when it rings," she told her. "This is neat."

"I'm glad you like it, Manda. Just wanted to tell you that your Sam and Diesel are here. I've allowed him to sleep here, but I'm setting a time limit. Thought I should warn you. See you at the Cakery tomorrow about 10, okay?"

"Are they—?"

"Diesel's fine and sleeping on the porch and I put your Sam in the guest room."

"I'm sorry, Zoe," Amanda said softly.

"I know. I didn't want you to worry about him so that's why I called. Anything you care to talk about?"

"No, but thanks."

"Okay. See you tomorrow."

After that call ended the next call came. This one had Sam's face. It looked like he'd taken the phone and used it to take a picture of himself. It was a silly photo, and right at this moment, she wasn't in the mood for silly or Sam. So she answered the call.

"Don't call me."

And then she hung up.

A few moments later, her phone beeped. Okay, now that was a text message. It took another minute to figure out how to read it.

It was from Sam.

_I'm sorry._

She deleted it.

Another one popped up.

_I'm sorry._

She deleted it.

_I'm sorry._

Fifteen I'm sorrys later, she put down the instruction booklet for the phone, plugged it in and left it on the kitchen counter.

That's when she remembered she had a new bed. A nice big queen size bed. And not a sheet to fit it. She shed her clothing, pulled on her pink t-shirt and wrapped herself in a down comforter.

Because she needed comforting.

And over and down the hill, in his daughter-in-law's spare bedroom, Sam was trying to figure out a way the mysterious Chuck Findley could help him out.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

#

#

#

"Grampa, you're here!"

Jacob and Noah barreled into the guest room and bounced up and down on the bed to wake their grandfather who discovered after the second or third double bounce that he was not feeling all that well this morning.

And he didn't really have a good reason why he wasn't feeling well. Oh, uh oh.

" 'scuse me, fellas," Sam said as he hurried into the bathroom adjacent to the room and closed the door.

What might be the equivalent of dry heaves kept Sam on the bathroom floor for at least 20 minutes. This made no sense to him whatsoever.

He had spent years of his life operating at peak efficiency under the toughest conditions human beings could survive above, below and on the surface of some of the most desolate places on the earth without so much as indigestion, but currently the idea of a bouncing child or a little water jostling in a glass kept his head poised above the porcelain stool. From SEAL, the fiercest of the fierce warriors, to this. It was a disgusting, humbling event and he didn't understand it. Maybe he needed a doc.

A couple of sharp knocks hit the bathroom door. It was Sam. "Hey, you okay in there?"

He grunted something.

"I'll keep the boys out, Dad. We don't want them getting whatever you have."

Forty-five minutes later Sam appeared in Zoe's kitchen, showered, shaved, dressed and stable. His son had already gone to work and Jacob and Noah were looking at him anxiously.

"Are you sick, Grampa?" Jacob asked.

"I'm not sure what that was, but I'm okay now."

"You want some cereal?" Noah held up a bowl of colorful, fruit scented balls.

It was not a pleasant odor. "Thanks, buddy, but I think I'll have some toast."

"Want to watch cartoons?"

"Sure, just let me talk to your mom for a while, okay?"

Zoe was sitting in the corner of the family room in a white wooden rocking chair nursing her baby. She wore a Cheshire cat grin, and wasn't using a nursing privacy blanket in the comfort of her home.

"Listen if this embarrasses you, you'd better get used to it," she said, "because Manda nursed Sammy, so she'll probably be doing the same for this baby. Babies and boobs, it's just a fact of life."

Sam looked away, not because he was embarrassed, but because he'd never imagined that particular image, and he had not been able to imagine that image until Zoe planted it in his mind. Now, it was affixed. Permanently.

"So how are you feeling?" she wondered.

"Okay. That was strange, I usually don't . . ."

"You're having sympathetic morning sickness," she diagnosed. "It's called Couvade Syndrome."

With that remark, Sam decided Zoe had just grown two heads or had become a doppelgänger. Or he had.

"That's not possible."

She laughed at him. "Sure it is. You love her. Sammy had it, too. Don't worry, it didn't last long for Sammy. I don't know how long it'll last for you. Could be the length of Manda's pregnancy."

"Zoe, that's . . . nuts."

"No. It's been documented for centuries. There's a doctor here in town who is doing research on it. Sammy was foolish enough to mention it to my doctor, who told that doctor who then contacted him. He wanted to talk to Sammy but, of course, he wouldn't let him, and I'm guessing you're the same way."

He realized he must have had a look of abject horror at the idea, because when he shuddered, Zoe laughed at him again and shook her head. "Sammy had that same look. Poor papa Sam. Go make yourself some toast now, and you'll be all better."

Strangely, toast helped.

Sam looked at the coffee pot and decided that wouldn't hurt, either, so he poured himself a cup and sat in the rocking chair on the opposite side of Zoe's. As soon as he sat down, Noah climbed up in his lap and stuck his thumb in his mouth. Sam put his coffee cup on the table between the chairs a few minutes later when Jacob joined his brother. Sam had his arms full of boys while their mama had her arms full of baby girl.

It was a peaceful, lovely moment that Zoe had to ruin.

"I just remembered you've got something to do today. But, I was thinking, if Manda's kicked you out of the house then she probably didn't tell you she has a doctor's appointment for an ultrasound, and it's good daddy manners to be there. Since you missed the last one. Thirty-four years ago. It's at 1:30, and the clinic address is on that pink card on the kitchen table."

"Did you wake up ornery today? What happened to Miss Shineshine and Giggles?"

"Aw, is that how you see me? Isn't that sweet? Thank you, Sammy's daddy. Now, I want you to make sure you're with her when she has it. Even if she's mad at you, you go. Promise?"

He didn't say anything. A few moments later, Sheldon came through the front door, called his hello to Zoe, and Jacob and Noah hopped down from Sam's lap to see their regular grandpa.

He could feel Zoe's gaze and turned to look at her.

"You owe her."

Sam smiled, got up and went over to kiss her forehead. "You're right, sunshine. I do. By any chance, did you ever run guns in Ireland?"

"What?"

"So when did you decide I love Amanda?" he asked quietly.

"You're here, aren't you? You're married, aren't you? Sammy saw you kissing her. She's pregnant. Takes you a while to come to your senses, doesn't it?"

Sam had no response for that, so he left to join Sheldon and their grandsons watching cartoons.

He wondered how he could have anticipated any of this when he'd found his way home to North Carolina and Amanda.

And to answer Zoe's question, yes, it had taken him 30 years to come to his senses. If he could only make sense of that.

#

#

#

Three words.

He'd told his son that he loved him, but he'd never told Amanda, the woman who had given him his son. Never, not once.

He should have.

He'd been chewing on that idea and a slew of other ideas ever since his extremely ill-conceived comment sent her temper to the red zone.

Her invisible scarlet letter.

For some reason that bothered him nearly as much as the fact that he'd never said I love you to her. Not then. Not now.

She was right. He'd assumed she was keeping whatever CrossAxe was a secret, but he believed it was as much a part of her day to day life as all those things that had been part of his day to day life in Miami.

Which brought him back to Big Mama, Boy Toy tasks and mojitos. Lots of mojitos. He had to wonder what Amanda would think of that.

On second thought, he knew.

He'd never asked her for an explanation three decades ago. He should have.

It had been a long time ago when the world had seemed so different. He'd planned on telling her how sorry he was to have been gone for so long, to have never told her how much he loved her, but then he'd come home to find she wasn't home. He could almost feel his legs quiver again the same way they had when he found out.

Her father had been sitting on the porch, rocking away, when he arrived.

"If you're looking for Amanda, she ain't here," he told him. "She took up with that fool friend of yours. Don't understand that. Hope you can make sense of it."

"Mack?"

"Yeah, kinda surprised me. I've known him since he was a boy."

Amanda was right. He had never given her a chance, or had given Mack a chance to explain anything.

After two years on a multitude of assignments, he was home. He yearned for her sweetness. How could he tell her that the last two missions he'd been involved with had been abject failures? That many more lives were lost than had been saved? He wasn't trained to lose; that wasn't his objective. And he wasn't handling it well, so he'd been sent home on an extended leave.

But what he wanted and who he needed was Amanda and she wasn't where she was supposed to be. He'd counted on that.

He remembered where Mack's mother lived and found his way to her house. She'd been helpful in the briefest of ways. "If you're looking for Mack, he's at the Concord Apartments. Lives across from the manager's office."

By the time he'd driven there, his temper had won that battle and he'd lost. When he heard Amanda's voice on the opposite side of the door, he exploded and the door was the recipient of his wrath, right before Mack and Amanda.

He couldn't stand to see them together, not one second longer so he'd left. He'd spent that night at a park and waited for sobriety and daybreak. He was a fool, but not fool enough to drive mountain roads in that condition. And then it was easy; he swept it all away, hid it in his mind in a dark corner and decided what he needed to do to climb in rank to get where he wanted to be. His finger still had the indentation of his wedding ring, but a few days later that disappeared, and he began his R&R in Virginia Beach.

The wedding ring was now back where it belonged, on his finger. He'd wanted it back, and when Amanda had handed hers to him, he'd done the same thing she had. It rested against his chest now, on a chain, near his heart.

Because, as his daughter-in-law pointed out, he loved her. He just hadn't mentioned that to her yet.

Before he left to close down what life he had left in Miami, they had made love. Oh, how they had made love, and the words were there inside him, so very close to being said, but he had not spoken a single one. She had. And after that, he couldn't think straight. Once she said yes, he found he couldn't think at all; he could only satiate a hunger that had been dormant for too many years. He'd forgotten how much her loving generosity filled him. She had been the one to say those words, and she'd whispered them so softly that he might have imagined hearing them, but he didn't imagine a thing. He heard them and wrapped himself in them and . . . he did not return them to her.

He still couldn't think of one damned reason why he hadn't told her he loved her, too, except for another attack of the stoopids.

That weighed on his mind and tied that thing in the middle of his chest into jangling knots he wasn't sure he could untangle. Even before yesterday when she'd kicked him out, he'd been thinking about that L word for a while.

He blamed Jesse.

He'd been saying good-bye in Miami. Maddie, Nate and Dani were the easy good-byes.

It'd been Jesse who'd used the word first. "We love you, man, so you take care. We'll come visit, we promise."

Mike couldn't say anything, and Sam understood because his own words were trapped deep inside, and neither he nor Mike had been able to stop the arrival of tears that said every word they could not. They exchanged hugs then stepped away from each other.

He'd nearly come unglued when Fiona wrapped her arms around his neck and brushed her hand over his damp cheeks and hers. "I love you, Sam. I wouldn't have Michael without you, and I don't know how to thank you for that. You deserve to be happy. I only hope that woman loves you as much as we do."

Traveling away from Miami had been slow and hard to do, and he'd traveled north, hugging the coast and his heavy heart until he hit Jacksonville.

The long trip would have been a 13 plus hour drive at any other time, but he drove and stopped and drove and stopped. It gave him a chance to tour memories he'd tucked away for decades, memories that previously only made brief appearances in his life.

The sweetest were the youngest and the most foolish, from the day he met Amanda to the crazy way they decided to get married after their first incredible hours of making love. Something told him anyone that lovely and that beautiful who gave him so much happiness should be kept and treasured so he'd asked her to marry him.

In those first days, he had been enchanted by her good nature, all that feminine softness and her kindness that was so very, very different from the tough world he so eagerly sought to make his mark in. But then his parents had died and he'd lost part of the stable ground he'd always stood on, and she'd been there. His regret? His parents had never met her. His deeper regret? He hadn't even told them about her.

Saving her family land from the tax man hadn't seemed that big of a thing. What would he have done with the inheritance if he hadn't used it the way he did? He discovered that in helping her, it actually helped him heal some of the pain of losing his parents, to know something of them lived on someplace besides in his memories.

As he'd traveled north, he'd revisited the years of his life that followed losing her to Mack.

He'd gone from mission to mission, but there had been a couple of times he could have gone back. He'd resisted his own best instincts; betrayal was bitter medicine.

Now he wondered. How deep was that betrayal? It certainly had every appearance of a grievous wrong, and yesterday she added another layer of doubt, doubt that steadily crept in since he'd arrived months ago.

_You didn't give either him or me a chance to explain anything, not then, and now you're doing the same thing about CrossAxe!_

And what would he have done years ago, if he'd gone back and discovered he'd had a son? What would he have done? What would have been more important to him? His ability to continually prove himself, to achieve more? Or his son?

He was afraid his son's fist full of greeting was well deserved.

That realization had him stopping in Savannah for longer than he'd planned. He didn't want to drive any longer, and he hadn't told Amanda when he'd be home, so he'd stopped and found his way to big, safe water and rested. He couldn't remember if he'd told her that he was going to have to leave the mountains at least once a year to be near water. It was his element. It was the only way he'd ever been able to keep his balance. He'd learned that about himself a long time ago.

He needed it. To cleanse. To heal. To refresh. To live.

During one of Father Hector's visits to check on Mike's progress with the acute stress disorder he was dealing with following his injuries on the Anson/Buller operation, they'd discussed water, and their affinity for it. The good priest and his former SEAL teammate told him he wasn't surprised they both landed in Miami, even if they'd taken very different roads to get there.

Water was an essential link between God and human life, he said, from the life-giving water that encompassed a child in the womb to the spiritual burial in baptism to the complete range of emotion vast bodies of water engendered in the human psyche.

"I've often thought our lives are not so much from dust to dust," Father Hector said. "It's more like the entire cycle of water, beginning to middle to end, when it comes as rain, is used, discarded, percolates through soil and rock to be cleansed and purified, then flows underground to rise in rivers before it evaporates and comes again in a storm cloud."

The explanation was as good as any he'd heard in understanding why water helped him heal and deal with his life. But he would be leaving big, safe water behind for the foreseeable future. The rest of his trip would be all uphill. He'd finished the journey mulling that idea. From six feet above sea level to 1,200 feet with mountainous terrain, the trip uphill could certainly be equated to his marriage to Amanda. On the first trip it hadn't seemed like that steep of an incline.

Sam had been praying, although he would never willingly choose that word in the presence of others, that in his marriage to Amanda they could find a level where they could both be happy.

Maybe Zoe had it right. Maybe the problem was they were newlyweds. He'd never thought of it that way until Miss Sunshine and Giggles stated it so bluntly.

This morning, his goal was to unload all the things he'd packed in his truck so if he needed to give Amanda a ride to her doctor, there'd be a place for her to sit. Last night, Diesel had barely fit in the front seat, and he wasn't fitting in much better now.

The dog refused to leave his side which was beginning to worry him, given his fellow father-in-law's assessment. He needed to take the dog home. To Amanda.

When he'd wondered about where he could store the things he brought back from Miami, Zoe had directed him to the storage area and Sheldon had laughed at her. When he pulled around the corner, he grinned. So that was why. Sam's truck was parked in the same warehouse area with storage lockers. Might be a good time to find out what his son did when he left for work every day.

He should have figured the meddler's fingers were busy.

But first, he needed to store the boxes and things stuffed in the back seat and cargo area. They were the parts of his life he'd saved, old wounds and battle scars that needed to be stored for examination on a different day. He parked and went looking for his son.

Diesel followed.

#

#

#

It was a 50th anniversary cake and it was gorgeous.

When they finished, Amanda and Zoe looked at each other and did a confectioners sugar high five with thin, flexible icing spatulas. They had outdone themselves. Zoe finished taking pictures while Amanda held her precious granddaughter who'd just woken because they had been a bit too enthusiastic in congratulating one another.

"This may be the most fabulous 50th anniversary cake we've ever made," Zoe said.

"It's just our regular pattern, but this one looks so much better. Maybe it's because the Millers are such a neat couple."

They'd used the palest of gold icing and accentuated three teardrop shaped tiers with white roses and edible gold leaf accents on the roses. They'd used three different shades of white to ivory to create the lovely vision. A streamer of confection roses and leaves elegantly draped each tier, and on the top layer, fresh pale gold rosebuds were set inside a small, hidden container that would keep them moist and supplied with water.

"We're going to have to have a baking day soon," Zoe said. "This is the last of the champagne cakes."

Their practice was to make and freeze layers of different sizes, shapes and flavors of cakes so that orders could be quickly filled. The main reason was that it was so much better working with a frozen cake than a tender fresh cake which crumbled so easily. The end result was a beautifully iced and crumb free creation, every bit as tender in its thawed state as it was in the hour it came out of the oven.

Now that Amanda and Zoe had reopened the Cakery after Zoe's recovery, they discovered they were short of supplies.

"Next week? What's your schedule like? I can start." Amanda offered. "Actually, I need to be here and do as much of that as I can. And I can do some of the smaller layers at home, too."

"As long as you don't overdo it," Zoe advised. "We'll just take turns. You spent the last seven months fussing at me, now I get to do that to you."

When they finished, Zoe wheeled the cake on a service cart into the large walk in refrigerator. The caterer would be stopping by before noon to pick it up, so all Amanda and Zoe had to do was wait and clean up.

"Manda, did that guy ever get here to check the fridge latch? It's still sticking," Zoe said.

"He was here and did something. I think I just paid that bill. Is it not working again?"

"I don't think so. Let's call him because neither of us needs to get stuck in there."

"Stuck in where?" Sam asked.

Zoe looked up from the sink where she was cleaning the last of the large stainless mixing bowls. "The freezer. The latch is not working correctly. Hey, what are you two doing here?"

"I'm thinking it's lunch time," Sam said, reaching down to kiss Zoe's cheek.

Amanda was holding her sweet baby granddaughter. "And I think your little one thinks it's lunch time, too. Just look at that sweet little face."

Sam had remained silent when he followed his son through the door and had wandered over to look at the freezer door, the exterior latch and the one inside the freezer. When the door swung shut, he was inside, and ended up knocking on the broad metal door to be let out.

"Does it do that often?" he wondered. "That's a little scary."

"No, but the inside latch should work. That's a new problem. It used to work," Zoe said as she looked at Amanda.

"That's not safe. I'll call repair service right now." When she said "here, Sam" to give the baby to her son, it was her husband who stepped over to take her.

Amanda and Sam had yet to address one another directly, and Zoe and Sam were aware of the underlying tension between them. Zoe finished and dried her hands while Sam collected the baby seat.

"Let's go home, Sammy. Manda can wait for the caterer. She won't be alone."

Sam handed his granddaughter over to them and waited.

"Be nice," Zoe said as she kissed his cheek and they left.

Amanda was scowling at him when she returned. "Why are you still here?"

"I understand you have a doctor's appointment today, and I need to be with you for that."

"Zoe."

"Sweet girl."

Amanda shook her head, sighed and smiled. "The meddler."

"Yes." They both smiled at that.

It was a start, Sam thought.

When the caterer arrived to collect the cake he had his first opportunity to see Amanda, the professional, in her realm. She gave instructions clearly and told them how to lift the heavy creation and move it so that it would stay in place. After the cake was situated in the back of the caterer's van to her satisfaction, and they returned to the baking end of the Cakery, she turned to look at him.

"Are you hungry? I brought lunch from home."

"Do you have enough?"

"Yes, I thought Zoe would be here."

He couldn't take another minute of the tension between them, so he closed the space between them and took her into his arms to hold her gently. She didn't resist. He kissed the top of her head.

"I'm sorry, Amanda. I— I'm so sorry. I need to be with you, and I hope you can get used to me putting my foot in my mouth. I'm sorry."

When he felt her arms encircle his waist and curl up his back, he relaxed. Then she pushed herself away from him and with a sad, sweet smile asked him what he wanted to drink as she went to retrieve lunch from the refrigerator and opened a toaster oven to slide something inside.

"It's tomato pie."

"Really? I haven't had that in years," Sam said. "What can I do here?"

She told him where to find plates and utensils and glassware and the tea in the refrigerator, and a few moments later they were seated at the small work area ready to eat.

And as he watched her and talked with her, he knew. He had not put things to right. Not yet. But at least she was talking to him.

#

#

#

There were two other couples ahead of them in the area of the clinic where sonograms were done. One couple was in their late twenties, nicely dressed, holding hands. The other couple was in their late teens or early twenties, and their numerous piercings and tattoos provided the colorful counterpoint.

The verbal color increased when they were instructed to remove all metal jewelry and items attached to piercings before the sonogram.

"The directions you sent said stuff should be removed 'just around the area' for the sonogram," the tattooed male said. "And she already took out her belly ring."

"Sorry, clinic rules," the technician announced, then invited the next couple to come in while the other couple removed jewelry items. They were still removing items when Sam and Amanda were asked to come back ahead of them.

The technician smiled and looked at the information form Amanda had filled out. "This should be all new to you because they weren't using sonograms in 1978."

She directed Sam where to sit and turned her screen so that they both could see what they were looking at.

And in that darkened room, with a monocolor monitor, Sam held Amanda's hand while they took their first look at the child in her womb. As the wand passed over her once more, the technician smiled. "That looks like one baby, not two."

Amanda took a deep breath. "I'm glad for that."

"Most of the mamas in their 40s and 50s are, but some are disappointed," the technician said as she added more warmed gel to her abdomen and guided it.

Sam watched as if spellbound. "Can you tell if it's a boy or girl?"

"That's what I've been looking for, but the way your little one is positioned, hmm. There. That looks like a boy. Congratulations. That's definitely a boy."

Sam looked at Amanda, and that thing in the middle of his chest felt ready to burst. A son. Another son.

Another chance.

"Are you disappointed?" he asked softly.

She smiled. "Not at all."

As they left the clinic that day they held hands, and Sam escorted Amanda to his truck and opened the door for her, he was really hoping he wouldn't screw things up this time.

After he climbed in himself he looked over at her. "Are you happy?" he wondered.

She had her hand pressed to her abdomen, he noticed. "Yes, I am. Are you?"

He leaned over and kissed her. "Yes. I am."

She gave him another one of those sad, sweet smiles.

By the time he'd pulled into traffic, she told him he was heading the wrong direction.

"You need to take me back to Cakery so I can get my truck."

He turned at the next light to take them back that way, but before they got there, she indicated he should turn into one of the smaller, older shopping centers.

"As long as we're this close . . . we need to stop here," she said.

Most of the spaces were occupied. He counted an insurance agent, a used auto broker, a dry cleaners and a used book store. At the end, next to two empty spaces, was a small sign on a window covered by blinds that were partially open. Inside lights were on.

He parked as Amanda dug through her purse looking for keys.

"It didn't seem the most important thing to tell you when you got here or I would have told you about CrossAxe before. When you didn't come home for so long . . . a long time ago," she took a breath and started again, "I had to make some decisions."

She didn't look at him, but instead studied the simple letters on the glass window: CrossAxe.

"Amanda, you don't have to—"

She held up her hand. Then she took a deep breath.

"Yes, I do. Now . . . what happened was I needed to pay the tax on the property you purchased for us. When the tax bill came due, I panicked. I did not want to lose it, and mainly because it was your inheritance from your parents that you should have had. I wanted to keep it safe for you. I didn't know I could until I found out you left me with a gift, besides Sam.

"When you purchased the home place for my father and put it in our names you did something really, really helpful. You put the title in both our names and you connected us by the word _or._ That meant I could do things with the property without needing your signature or permission. That saved us, because, well, I couldn't find you.

"When I stopped panicking and read the tax bill more carefully, I found out at the time you purchased the property you also ended up paying the next year's taxes, so that first year we didn't actually owe, but I still needed to figure out what to do for the year after that.

"I didn't know anything about anything then, so first I found out what we had. Then I discovered there was a lot of land. It wasn't just the house. The house sits in the middle of a section. I figure one of my ancestors was a carpetbagger because it was after the Civil War when the land was purchased. My dad must have known, he just never said anything.

"At the time the economy was different, things were growing, and lots of areas were being accessed for fiber optic cabling and cell towers. The first lawyer who contacted me about that wanted to buy land but I decided then I wasn't going to sell anything, and I couldn't. Then he proposed a lease agreement."

Sam was watching her tell the story of CrossAxe. She was focused, intense but her hands were busy fretting as she told the story. He reached over and put one of his hands over hers. She continued to look out the window at the business front but she wrapped both of her hands around his.

"I knew I needed a lawyer, but I thought they were scary people. Actually, I still think that. But I found one, a good one, and he's been with me all this time. Without his help, I don't know what would have happened to me and Sam. David's a Vietnam vet; I met him at his mother's house when I made a cake for him. He'd just finished law school and wanted to set up a practice here. So I was his first client.

"All of the land you purchased is still in our names, hence CrossAxe. We lease parts of it to telecommunications companies and have a number of long term leases in place that provide a steady income. There are several other long term leases in place for structures, and when I say long term, I mean they are 50 and 100 year leases. Those also provide income. A few years ago, we were too cash heavy, so we were trying to figure out what to do next when a banker David knew approached him and wondered if we would be interested in economic development. Unfortunately, making personal loans didn't lighten the tax burden."

She laughed then. "That's probably been the most fun part, to my way of thinking. We've loaned money with a low payback to people who've already been vetted by the bank but their debt ratio was too high to lend them money, so we do. We're not a bank. These are all personal loans, and so far we've helped a number of people, like the furniture store you were at yesterday. We've also purchased some property, like this little shopping center and the one where you were earlier today by Sam's place.

"Oh, and a few years ago when Sam and Zoe were in high school, Shel and I bought a house together in Duck. The man who owned it needed to sell it. We'd rented it, but while we were there we were asked to vacate the property because a realtor wanted to show it. Long story short, we bought it. We have it rented out most of the year. We keep a couple of dates for ourselves to go there and we use a vacation rental management company, but it pretty much takes care of itself, unless a hurricane comes to wash it away, which has happened in that area in the past."

Sam was stunned by the tale she wove, but she wasn't finished.

"And when Sam and Zoe were married, I gave them the house they have. Both of them always liked it, but it'd been rented for a number of years and needed some improvements, so I took the easy way out and gave them some money so they could fix it how they liked. When Sam got back from Iraq and told me what he wanted to do, I gave him that warehouse area where he's at now, too. It was in bankruptcy and had an out of state owner, so it was good buy. And I thought it would be easier for him to worry about a light bill than a mortgage payment."

She let go of his hand when she realized she'd been squeezing it.

"Do you want to go in now? There's not much to see, but since the lights are on, I'm guessing David is in. I've asked him to make copies of the past ten years tax returns so you can see what we do. Since you're an owner, you should know that the quarterly tax bill is coming up soon, and the government wants an obscene amount of cash."

She opened the door and climbed down to the pavement and walked to the door to open it. He followed behind, slowly.

She might be angry with him, but so far he'd been right. She was Donald Trump in drag. He just wouldn't say that out loud again.

The office opened to a large area with a couple of desks and a half partitioned wall. On one wall was a large aerial photograph, sectioned together, of the CrossAxe property. On the other was a grouping of photos under a CrossAxe logo with Amanda's father and mother's wedding photo and a similar photo of his parents. He was drawn to it, and deeply touched.

He turned to find her watching him. "How did you come by this? Everything was destroyed in a fire."

"Yes. But you had an elderly aunt. She gave me that and several other photos. Sam was about seven when she died. We go back to Greensboro a couple of times a year to tend to her and your parents' graves. She didn't know where you were, either."

Sam frowned. "I don't understand this."

"What? The photos? Or . . .?"

"Why you did this?"

"My father was dead, you were gone, and I didn't have any family left, so I went looking for yours. I was hoping someone knew something about where you were. I found the story about the fire and saw your parents' obituaries and that's how I found your aunt."

When he turned back around to look at her, he discovered a man in a wheelchair had joined her. He moved the motorized chair forward and extended his hand.

"David Pence."

Sam reached shook his hand. "Sam Axe."

David smiled. "A name I'm very familiar with."

"That would be my son."

"No, that would be you."

Sam looked at the lawyer. His body was broken; at some time he'd suffered a stroke. One of his pant legs was empty, but his burn scarred face was open and friendly. His handshake was strong.

Sam frowned, glanced at Amanda then the map, then back to David. "How did you do all this without my signature or social security number?"

"I have your SSN. I found that a number of years ago," David said. "But that's all I found. Apparently you worked clandestine services and the Navy was not interested in sharing additional information, so we stopped looking. I do a lot of tap dancing to keep us legal, and it would all have been easier to have you declared dead but . . ."

David glanced back at Amanda.

"But we didn't do that," she said. "Do you have that information for him?"

"Just finished. I'll be right back." David reversed his wheelchair and disappeared around a corner.

He turned to look at Amanda. "Is this what you do every day? This stuff?"

"No. I bake cakes. I decorate cakes. I pay David and two other people to take care of things here. This is what I need to do, but it's not what I love doing."

David Pence returned with a file folder on his lap which he handed to Sam. "The most recent return is on top."

Sam opened the folder and scanned the page then dropped down to the amount of taxes dues.

Good grief. Amanda Cross Axe was a wealthy woman.

#

#

#

Amanda was surprised to find Diesel in her kitchen, waiting.

She turned back to Sam and frowned.

"You changed the locks," he said.

"Apparently it was a foolish way to spend money. How'd you get in?"

"Lock pick."

"Ridiculous," she muttered, then walked over to the kitchen cupboard, opened it and grabbed a key which she then handed to him. "Here. This will save you the trouble."

"Thanks."

"I'm tired now so I think I'll go take a nap," she said as she left the room.

Sam let Diesel back in the house and sat at the kitchen table with a pile of tax returns. By the time he finished looking through them several hours later he realized Amanda had done more than simply watch over the resources she had. She'd expanded them dramatically, which made her lifestyle all the more interesting.

He rose, stretched and left the forms on the table and went to the bedroom. He removed his boots and lay down on the bed next to her.

As soon as he did, she turned over to face him. The evidence of what she'd been doing instead of napping was clear on her face. He caressed her damp cheek and kissed her forehead. "I don't understand you."

She closed her eyes then. "And I don't understand you either."

"I promise not to call you Donald Trump in drag again."

"Thanks."

"If I tell you I love you, you'll think it's all about CrossAxe and not about what I feel, won't you?"

She nodded.

"Then I'll tell you tomorrow, but you'll still think it'll be business not personal, won't you?"

Again, that sad, sweet smile.

"Then can I tell you I'm very happy to have a second chance at being a father?"


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

#

#

#

Couvade Syndrome.

Sam didn't know what possessed Zoe to plant that idea in his head, but now that it was there, it was there.

He'd heard Amanda in the bathroom earlier. He knew there was nothing he could do about her morning sickness. Last night, he'd left crackers in a plastic tub with a lid and an empty glass for water for her but . . .

He probably should have done the same for himself.

The bathroom was hers. He dealt with his queasy problem differently.

Pulling on his jeans, he quietly left the house to sit on the back porch step in the bracingly cool, extremely early fall morning. The only thing between him and fading stars was a pair of jeans, chilled flesh and bare feet.

He found it effective to keep the woozies calmed. If he was shivering, he wasn't heaving.

Diesel was watching him from a distance. Probably a good thing. Keeping his eyes closed was another good thing.

He cringed when he heard his son's Jeep pull into the driveway and park. He heard the vehicle's door slammed shut and waited. He knew he was being watched, so he opened his eyes.

"Don't you need to be somewhere else this time of day?" he asked him.

Sam held out a package of individually wrapped saltine crackers to his father. "Here, you can have the rest of my box."

He opened a single package, and ate a cracker. Magic. "Thanks."

Sam took a seat on the bottom step and watched the horizon begin to glow. "Dad, I should warn you there's this crazy doctor here who's studying men who do this when their wives are pregnant, so I wouldn't mention this to anyone if I was you. I made that mistake."

"Zoe told me."

"He thinks we're normal for freaks."

"What do you think?"

"I'm glad I know another freak."

"I never heard of it before yesterday."

"Yeah, and the day before yesterday you were drinking. You okay now? About the baby?"

"Yeah." Sam paused for a moment then looked down at his son. "It's a boy."

"You'll do good. Boys are easy. I think a daughter will be hard."

"You'll have help."

His son turned to look at him. "So will you."

Sam looked up to the fading dark of the sky. "I'm sorry I wasn't here to see you grow up. To do the dad things. To be your dad."

"I know."

Sam let that sink in for a few moments. "How do you know that?"

His son shrugged. "Have you and Mom figured things out yet?"

"No. But I'm not leaving, if that's what you're asking."

"She might kick you out again. Usually, she's not . . . like this."

"I have a talent for saying the wrong thing."

"So that's where I got it."

Sam let out a half a chuckle and consumed the other saltine cracker. "How long does this crap last?"

"A couple of months. It seemed longer."

"Great," Sam muttered.

"You okay now?"

Sam thought about it. "Yeah."

His son laughed softly. "See you this afternoon?"

"I'll be there."

#

#

#

Breakfast in the Axe home was a gentle affair. Toast and tea. For two.

Yesterday, Zoe told Amanda about Sam's sympathetic morning sickness. Part of her believed there was poetic justice in that, and part of her returned silent empathy.

She set a small jar of homemade apple butter next to his toast. He picked it up, opened the lid and smelled the sweet, spicy cinnamon apple mixture. "Did you make this?"

"When you were in Florida, yes."

"My mom . . ."

"It's her recipe. Your Aunt June gave it to me when she learned I liked to cook. Sam likes it. And I've always liked heirloom things—recipes, vegetables, fruit. Levis," she smiled. "There's an orchard on the other side of the hill above the house with some very old apple trees. I've been trying to figure out what variety they are, because they're not common. That's where I got the apples. Would you like to see them?"

"Yes."

He sensed her pleasure with his reply.

"Did you have any questions about—?" She glanced at the tax forms where he'd left them on the table. "Ask David anything you want to know. His office is around the corner from CrossAxe."

Sam looked at stack of returns. "I'm having a hard time grasping that you've done all that. I wouldn't have done it as well. I'm curious, too. People who have this much income . . . often live differently than you do. Why?"

She looked beyond his shoulder, out the window.

"The land was my father's, not mine, and you purchased it with your inheritance. I've just been the caretaker. The lease income gave us a way to live without worrying the way so many people do. I wanted to take care of Sam. The fluke was none of this would have happened if economic growth had started on the other side of town. I guess I was trying not to spit in Lady Luck's eye. And anything more than this isn't me."

She got up from the table and took her cup and plate to the sink. "I like simple things. Having too much of anything tips things out of balance. It wasn't until I started planning for the future that everything got complicated."

She opened the back door to let in the morning air and Diesel. The sun was higher in the sky and the day was warming. She stood at the door looking out, tucking her hands in the front pockets of soft, faded form fitting jeans with splits at the knee. She had a pink turtleneck shirt under a soft pink plaid flannel shirt.

"Remember the day you got here?"

He quirked a smile. "Of course."

"At first, I thought I was dreaming that you were there on the porch, but that was only because I'd spent most of that day discussing you with David. He wanted to locate you, and I didn't want him to. It was one of my angry days."

She laughed without humor. "Who knew I just should have asked Sheldon where you were? Zoe's pregnancy was not going well, and I started thinking about the boys, and worrying what might happen if, God forbid, something happened to her. When Sam was deployed, I'd already panicked about that."

Amanda glanced over to him. "David was being sensible. I wasn't. I agreed to let him look for you, but he never got started since you were here. The day you knocked on the door, you got the wrong side of my temper." She paused and lowered her voice. "You really wanted a divorce?"

Clear, honest, deep sky blue eyes sought his when he joined her. This conversation had taken a turn he hadn't expected.

"I thought we covered this already. Aren't we past this?"

She looked away from him and spoke softly. "Maybe _I'm not_ past this."

"Divorce was the only word I knew that could come close to something I didn't think I could have."

"What couldn't you have?"

"Mike and Jesse, remember meeting them?"

"Sam called them your brothers."

He dropped his head and looked down. "Yeah, he would understand that. And that is what they are to me, Amanda. They are my brothers. I'd give my life for them, and they'd give theirs for me. They are as much a part of my life the way Sheldon, Zoe, Sam and the kids are to yours, and now mine, too.

"Jesse was a lone wolf kind of guy until the woman who's his wife now put herself between him and a bullet and nearly died. They've got a beautiful little girl now. Mike met Fiona in Ireland a long time ago. That woman saved him several times, but nothing between them was ever easy. They're married, they have a son. I'm glad for them, but . . . watching them all . . . be happy was . . . " He swallowed hard and looked down. "If I wanted something like that for myself, I knew I'd have to finish with what was here before I could look for it. I thought you'd be glad to be rid of me. But what could I do after meeting a son I didn't know I had? Or see you . . . being you?"

They stood on either side of the door. She looked up into his face. "I think that was a compliment, but I don't understand what you're saying."

He closed the distance between them and put his hands on her shoulders. "I'm confused, okay? I want us to find a place where we can both be okay with what happened in the past."

He felt her body tense. She frowned. "That's what we haven't moved past, that's what you're saying?"

"Didn't we discuss that loudly, right here?"

"We did. We yelled at each other. We hurt each other. Our son heard us. Now I wonder, were we talking about the same thing?"

He didn't mask the edge of anger when he looked into her face. "I thought you were apologizing for sleeping with Mack and not telling me about Sam."

She shrugged sharply, moved away from his touch and put space between them. "You've got it backward. I was apologizing for not finding you, for not letting you know about Sam. I never slept with Mack."

"He said—"

"If he told you that, he lied."

"You said—"

"Dammit, you never knew why I was at his apartment. You didn't ask. You broke the door, slugged Mack and gave me your ring back in 30 seconds, maybe less! The apartment manager saw the whole thing. Heard it, too. Repeated it. Word for word. For years. Mack left. I stayed. Life continued. You went wherever you went, and I figured things out one day at a time here."

Sam seemed to be stunned by that.

She looked away from him. "I'm sorry. I should have let David try to find you a long time ago. I shouldn't have let my father guilt-trip me out of the house and keep Sam because he thought I was an unfit mother, hanging out in bars. I wasn't sleeping with Mack. I was sleeping on his couch."

"You weren't hanging out in bars?"

"Sure, I was. Mack hung out in bars, and he _was the only person I knew who could tell me anything_ _about you._ The Navy wouldn't talk to me. I didn't understand why Mack came back on leave but you never did. I bugged his mother to find out when he'd be coming home. The last time he came back, he was angry and was drinking a lot because he had a medical discharge. Finally he told me the last he saw you was two years before. He said he saw you follow a woman into a bar in San Francisco. Was that a lie?"

All the air in his lungs left him.

"No. That woman was my CIA contact. You can ask Sheldon. That might have been the first op where I heard the name Dunham. We collected a couple of team members and left the country within the hour. I didn't think about calling and when I finally did, I couldn't. Oh, hell."

He took a deep, shuddering breath. They stood and looked at each other, absorbing what they had just told one another. He saw hurt in her eyes, hurt that he'd put there.

"If you don't believe me, you can go see Mack again or call him."

"Do you want to talk to Sheldon to verify my CIA contact?"

Slowly, she shook her head no.

They stood across from each other, looking into each other's face. Sam felt the weight of 30 years of needless pain settle on his shoulders. While Amanda dealt with her pain and anger every day, he'd buried his so deeply that excavating it had become shamefully excruciating.

He opened his arms and she walked right into them as they held each other tightly. Sam pressed his cheek to the top of her head. He felt her face against his chest. They stood that way for a long, long time before they separated.

He reached inside his shirt to pull up her wedding ring on the chain. "Please, Amanda."

She nodded and let him remove the ring and put it on her finger.

"Can we do this . . . married thing?" she wondered.

"I want to. Do you?"

"Yes."

He caressed her cheek "I meant it when I said I love you."

"I know." She turned her face to kiss his palm.

And there was that sweet, sad smile. Again.

Seeing that, not understanding that, was going to kill him. It felt like they moved forward, but he was stuck somewhere, and he wasn't sure why or what to do next.

"Do you still want to see those apple trees?" she wondered.

That was as good a starting place as any. "Yes."

By the time they climbed to the top of the hill behind the house, the early fog had cleared and the day was crystalline clear. The sky, a brilliant blue, reflected the color of Amanda's eyes. The air was crisp and light. Golden touches of autumn burnished trees with small, vibrant patches of gold and red and bronze and purple.

The hill was a perfect vantage point to see everything around them. The last time he'd been here with her had been years and years ago. He'd forgotten about the abandoned farm.

"It's down there." Amanda turned and pointed to the remains of an old barn. Parts and pieces of wall leaned against a partially collapsed roof. Next to it, the house was in the same ailing condition, and beyond that, was a large orchard of apple trees, planted in perfectly spaced rows. Some of them had been damaged by storms and were bent over, but, remarkably, were still growing. Sam said the area seemed well tended. Diesel bounded ahead of them, barking.

She nudged his shoulder. "There's the maintenance crew. We might be too late for apples. Some years they come earlier than others."

Several white-tailed deer were alerted by the sound of their voices and Diesel and darted away. By the time they reached the trees, they could see deer had eaten everything edible from the ground up, and every apple hanging from a branch, as far as they could reach.

Sam was tall enough to reach what the deer hadn't and filled Amanda's baskets with apples.

They walked back to the crest of the hill and sat down to look over the small valley and the not so blue today Blue Ridge range on the other side. Amanda wished out loud that she'd brought a camera.

"Use your phone," he said as he bit into an apple with an audible crunch. "Hey, there are no worms in this one."

She clicked and preserved an image of him. "This variety of apple seems to have a natural protection against insects."

When she finished taking pictures and smiling at the results she said, "You said something I wanted to ask you about."

"I have something I want to ask you about, too."

When she didn't speak, he did. "You said the day I got here was an angry day. What does that mean?"

It was her turn for a question. "Will you tell me what you meant about wanting a different relationship than the ones you had?"

He pitched the apple core off into the distance. "The other night Zoe said we were newlyweds, that she and Sam have been married longer than we have."

"She told me the same thing. She's right." Amanda leaned back on her elbows to watch clouds move. "We've each lived years without knowing what the other was doing. Maybe we should get to know who we are now instead of who we were then. We were awfully young."

Sam lay back, putting his hands behind his head to watch clouds move across the sky. "Ladies first. So what was an angry day?"

She copied his motion. "A day when I was angry. You've been stuck in my head for years. You may have been gone from this place, but you never left here," she pointed to her forehead.

"Because of Sam."

"Yes. When he did something super neat, I wanted you to know, but I couldn't tell you because you weren't here to tell. Or write or send pictures. There was the sports stuff . . . or when he brought home his first all A report card. That was a pretty wow day. Things like that. It got worse after he and Zoe were married and started having babies. They were so happy. So I was either really sad that you weren't here, or really angry that you weren't. I never found a middle ground."

She glanced over to him. "Once I read that anger and sorrow are different sides of the same coin. I know it's true. I lived it."

"So you've been mad at me for 30 years?"

She smiled. "Fifteen. The other fifteen years, I was sad. It was probably self-destructive behavior. I was lucky to have Sam, Shel and Zoe keep me in balance. What did you do when you left here that day? Where did you go?"

She wanted to ask him if he'd ever thought about her, but she was afraid the answer was no.

Sam glanced at her then looked away. "I hadn't thought about that day for a long time until recently. I'd been sent home for R&R. From the time I left here until that day I came back, it had been one mission after another. Our last two were failures and they shouldn't have been. A lot of good people died. I was already in mood to . . ."

He sat up quickly and rubbed the knuckles of one hand with the palm of his other hand. "After I left you and Mack, I stopped on the way out of town and bought the first thing I saw. Applejack." He grimaced at the memory. "First and last time. There's a park on one of the lookouts and I stopped there. I spent the rest of the afternoon drinking the whole damned thing. Got sick as dog. At least I wasn't stupid enough to drive. Slept in the car and woke up the next day after noon. I headed back to Virginia Beach. I had six weeks R&R and a paycheck so I stopped thinking about you and enjoyed the bars and the ladies. The next assignment was in Libya and the next was in Iraq, and the next was Germany then . . . well, that's what I did."

Diesel returned from inspecting the area to sit between them and pant. Amanda reached over and scratched behind his ears and petted his head.

"I'm sorry, Sam."

"Me, too."

"So how did you go from there to . . . wanting a different kind of relationship?"

"That will involve explaining things I'd rather not."

"Because?"

He looked away from her. "Because I'm not very proud of some of the things in my past."

Neither of them said a word for the next few minutes.

Amanda could see Sam working through whatever he was working through, so she changed her question. It seemed to startle him. "How did you get yourself kicked out of the Navy? Tell me about that."

There was another too long pause from him.

"I turned into . . . a screw-up."

She laughed lightly. "Sam was the last person I heard say that."

"He was a kid, he had an excuse."

"No, that was last week. What's your excuse?"

"You won't like it." He sighed and looked off to the horizon.

"Okay. I've been warned."

"It all started because I didn't know who my commanding officer's wife was. He came home early, and I left by the window and a roof. Later that night he figured out it'd been me in his bed, and sent me to Columbia. It was intended as punishment. It shouldn't have been a career-ending assignment, but I turned it into that. I was saved from being court martialed—"

"Court martialed?"

"I wasn't, but only because of a 16-year old kid with a camera and a connection to her dead father's newspaper. I was brought up for an inquiry that wasn't what it seemed. I negotiated my own retirement. Got an honorable discharge, a ticket to Miami and a cold beer."

He took a deep breath. "And then I didn't care about much of anything. I dedicated myself as a bar fly at various sports bars, ran tabs anywhere I could, just a washed up intel guy who'd rat on his friend to the FBI, and a boy toy to a whole string of rich and not so rich women. You should watch out, Manda. Sam Axe only dates rich women who can give him things. And from what I saw yesterday, you're rich."

She put her hand on his arm, felt the tension in his bicep and leaned closer. With her chin on his arm, she looked up into his face and suppressed a smile. "Boy toy? Really?"

He refused to look at her. "Yeah. Alcohol helped. Beer. Mojitos. A lot of mojitos. A lot of beer. I thought I was happy."

"Really?" she repeated.

He glanced down at her then, but couldn't decipher the expression on her face. He turned away because he didn't want to see it turn into disappointment. Or disgust.

Amanda slid her hand down his arm and clasped his hand. "Sheldon said you and your friends just did something really important that's a big secret. Something you can be proud of."

"It was important. And it's classified."

She sighed. "You know a lot of secrets, don't you?"

He glanced back at her and didn't reply.

She waited for another moment then asked, "Why Miami?"

"I knew someone there who could give me a job if I needed one, and I'd kept a storage locker there between missions. I used the same motel room from time to time when I wasn't with . . . someone."

"Were there a lot of someones?"

"Too many."

"Who was your friend who gave you jobs? Mike?"

"No. But he used to work with her, too. Lucy was CIA until she went private security. Sometimes she took pity on me when cash got low. Then everything changed when Mike got burned and Fiona showed up at the same time. We all had the same problem."

"What was that?"

"Really bad reputations. You wouldn't understand."

It took him several long minutes to realize what he'd said. He looked back at her to find her steady gaze on him. "I mean—"

"I wouldn't understand what it's like to have people think something bad about you? To always be pushing against it? Why did Fiona have a bad reputation?"

Sam looked down. "After her sister was killed, she joined the IRA and became a . . ."

" 's okay. I don't need to know."

She stood up, brushed the back of her jeans and picked up one of the baskets full of apples. "I was wrong the other day, Sam. You don't believe the worst about me. You think I'm not smart enough to understand the life you lived somewhere else, and since I don't fit there, you're sacrificing yourself to fit in here with me."

"Amanda, that's not—"

"You miss your friends, your family. I understand."

"I didn't—"

She put her hand on his shoulder and looked into his face. "You should know I can't put what I know about you and make it fit with the words _boy toy_. Or _bar fly_. Either one. I think you might have been self-medicating, but maybe we're still strangers to each other. I can't reconcile that old memory of who you were when we got married with who you say you were in Miami. What I know is that I may not have had your experiences or have been part of your life . . . but if you're always going to be longing for somewhere else, this won't work."

She smiled then, one of her beautiful sexy lady smiles. "Face it, Sam. We got married so fast because the sex was so good. Still is, but I don't have the comparatives you do. I'm okay with that. But I won't be okay with being second best in your life to everything else that's important because that's exactly what I've had all these years." She sighed, closed her eyes and straightened up. "Never mind. This is probably pointless."

He reached to hold her hand. "Would you not leave? Please?"

"What else is there to say?"

"You're upset and I want . . ."

"I know," she said sweetly. "You don't want me to be upset, and I don't want hurt you because you've done enough of that to yourself. But marriage is a partnership of equals and I keep getting the same feedback from you. I'm always going to be at the short end of your measuring stick."

"That's not what I said." He stood then and brushed off his own clothing.

Amanda had to look up at him now. "You didn't pause, you didn't blink, you didn't take a breath. You told me I wouldn't understand. If I can't understand having a bad reputation, then what can I understand?"

"But you didn't do anything to have a bad reputation."

"Until a while ago, you thought I deserved my bad reputation. How about your friend Mike? Did he earn his bad reputation?"

"No."

"His wife?"

"Iffy on that one," he said with a smile, clearly intended as humor.

"You?"

"Yeah, I screwed up." He frowned.

"And how about me?"

"No."

"Okay, so only you can make mistakes. And maybe your friend Fiona."

"Mandy, please. I love you. I don't want us to be . . ."

"To be what?"

"Apart. I can't . . ."

Her voice softened. "I'm not going anywhere, Sam. I won't tell you to leave. Things have changed." She set down the basket she held and reached for his hand and brought his palm to her abdomen. Then she put both of her own hands on top of his. "Our son will need you. I need you."

"I love you, Amanda."

She smiled and pressed the palm of one hand to his cheek. "I know you think you do."

The sad, sweet smile reappeared.

Seeing that smile was making him crazy.

She picked up her basket and headed back down the hill.

He was puzzled as he watched her walk away. Something Fiona said once returned in a quick flash of memory. She'd been complaining how Mike could find a place for her snow globes but didn't know where to fit her into his life.

Was that what he was doing with Amanda? Was it? Not finding the place where she fit in?

He picked up the second basket and followed her back to the house.

Dammit, why wasn't there a rule book about this kind of crap?

And why did it hurt so much to think about this stuff?

#

#

#

"Hey, Mike. Did you guys make that buy?"

"Hello to you, too, Sam."

"Sorry."

"Not yet. Chuck Findley needs to bury it another level, then we'll be good to go."

"Okay, thanks."

"Not so fast. What's happening there?"

Sam pulled into parking area outside David Pence's office. "You know."

Michael laughed. "No, that's why I'm asking. How's Amanda?"

"Hey, are you and Fi still thinking of coming to see Sheldon?"

"Yes, but we haven't settled on a date. I have to buy a suitable vehicle for long distance travel with an infant, at least that's what Fi says. Something like what you got. How's Amanda?"

"Get one with AWD. It'll be safer on these roads, especially now that the weather's more changeable and getting colder."

"Sam, how's Amanda?"

Sam blew out a breath. "Yeah . . . about that . . . she's . . . ah . . . she's pregnant, Mike. We'll have another boy in five months or so."

Time stood still a moment or two while two old friends used the silence to gauge the other's response.

"Congratulations. Are you happy about that?"

"Yeah, I am. I don't want to screw this up like I did the last time. Let me know when we're good to go, okay?"

"Things got a lot more complicated, huh?"

"Yeah, they did. Just let me know about that before you say go, okay?"

"We will. Hey, Sam. I'm happy for you."

"Thanks, Mike."

When Michael ended the call he looked at Jesse and Barry with something of a stunned expression on his face. Then he grinned.

"Amanda is pregnant."

Jesse laughed. "For real?"

"A boy, in another five months."

"Wait," Barry said. "Sam? He got a woman pregnant?"

"Yeah, his wife," Jesse said.

"He's married?"

"Been married." Michael said.

"I can't imagine," Barry shuddered. "Euuww. Wait. Is that why we're doing this?"

"You haven't seen his wife," Michael said softly. "And yeah, that's why we're doing this."

#

#

#

David Pence's office was indeed around the corner from CrossAxe.

Until he turned to park his truck, he couldn't see the two offices were connected by an interior door. It was late in the afternoon, and the lights were on inside because a thunderstorm was approaching and the sky had grown dark.

He'd left Amanda at home. She was taking a nap, sleeping like a pregnant woman. He kissed her forehead, turned on a light, then left her a note and Diesel in charge, lying on the floor next to where she was napping on the couch.

Amanda had given him a key to CrossAxe and the Cakery, but it was David he wanted to speak with. He was returning the copies of the tax forms with David, if only for shredding.

The door was open; classical music was playing softly in the background, and as soon as he entered a tall, slender, strikingly beautiful woman dressed in black from head to toe, stepped into the room. Her hair was straight and long, solid white, and clipped back at the nape of her neck with a turquoise pin. She said hello.

She looked . . . familiar, but Sam didn't know why. "I don't have an appointment, so I hope David can—"

She held out her hand and smiled. "Of course he can, Mr. Axe."

Sam shook her hand and tipped his head. "I don't think we've met."

"No, but I know your son and Amanda and Zoe. Your son's resemblance to you is remarkable. I'm Dee Pence, David's wife, and the other half of the law firm."

"Nice to meet you."

She smiled and turned to lead him back to an office with its wall of windows and exceptional view of the ridge and skyline.

"I bet having two Sams in the family gets confusing."

"Not yet, but it could."

David greeted him and glanced at what he held in his hand. "Come on in, Sam. Do you have some questions?"

David's wife left the room quietly and Sam looked over his shoulder as she did. "Your wife is a beautiful woman."

"She is. Like Amanda. Inside and outside. How can I help you?"

Sam handed him the pile of copied returns and took the chair facing his desk. "What's my status with CrossAxe? Do I have authority to do anything?"

David leaned back in his chair. "You're an equal owner with Amanda. Whether you realized what you—"

"An equal owner who could opt out if I wanted, correct?"

"Yes, but why would you?"

"Because I want to. Can you transfer everything in my name to Amanda's? Wouldn't that simplify things?"

"It would."

"Then, would you draw up whatever needs to be done for that?"

"I will. What about the money in your trust?"

Sam frowned. "Trust?"

"Yeah. Since the beginning, she's made sure half of everything went into a trust for you. It's been managed . . . it's done well."

"How much?"

"About four and a half million. Like I said, it's been managed well."

Sam just shook his head sadly and looked out the window where he could see it was starting to rain.

"Take my name off that, too."

"It actually goes to your son if . . ."

"I'm sure there's some tax unpleasantness involved. Can you work some legal magic so it doesn't hurt him or her?"

"Is that your objective?"

Sam just looked at him. "Not hurting her? Yeah."

David didn't say a thing.

Sam nodded. "Let me know when you need me to sign things."

"She'll need to approve that, too."

"I don't think that'll be a problem. Thanks for your time, David."

He stood, reached across the desk and shook David's hand then left, and got in his truck to drive to Sam's warehouse.

When Dee joined her husband, he was pensive.

"What's wrong?"

He told her what Sam Axe had just asked him to do. "He doesn't understand her."

That earned him a beautiful smile, the kind of smile that had graced elegant fashion magazines for decades. "Men. You are all such fools."

#

#

#

Sam Axe the younger came back from his second deployment with all his limbs, his vision, his hearing and his health. Many men in his company did not.

He had asked God why he'd been spared, and there was no right or wrong answer. It was what it was.

His wife and his mother had both become angered when he thought he should have paid a price. After David helped him readjust his thinking, he took a page out of his mother's book and figured out how he could quietly be of help to as many men and women who he'd served with in ways that fell outside of the VA and Guard parameters.

He was located between a triangle of VA facilities, and the transition assistance office in town.

He wasn't trying to do a job he didn't have, because he did have a job; he worked from seven to noon for a local contractor, estimating jobs. When the work dropped off, his hours had been reduced giving him enough time to help some of the guys in his unit reacclimate to their changed lives as civilians.

He was trying to be a friend, the same kind of friend David had been, to provide help he'd needed when he needed it.

It was an enormously simple and enormously complex idea. To be a friend, a brother. And that's what many of his men needed. A brother who understood them and their lives and their sacrifice.

What they all ended up dealing with was the post-traumatic stress that made for unhappy homecomings, and readjusting in and to the peaceful civilian world difficult; then there were their wives or husbands and children who couldn't always understand or, in too many cases, wouldn't want understand and left.

One of the things Sam took on as his own while he was in college was the discipline of martial arts that helped minds and bodies. He'd practiced kook sool won, but these new circumstances had him moving back from the aggressive form martial arts practice to t'ai chi ch'uan for the balance that men and women missing limbs needed. In the process of gaining his certification to teach, he'd learned the slow, quiet rhythmic movements built two things missing in many veterans' lives: confident peace and internalized strength.

He'd been a lucky man, blessed. He wanted to pass it on, share in a simple way.

The sign on the door welcomed visitors:

_In calmness, the mind must be active. In activity, the mind must be calm_.

The large, cavernous room worked for set practice. The cubby hole areas around it contained restrooms, a kitchenette and eating area with vending machines. Coffee and tea service. A couple of TVs and couches and chairs, and everything handicapped accessible. There were loaner laptops, and prepaid cell phones for those who needed reemployment.

The loading ramp into the building had been skid proofed and inspected. Currently, six men and their wheelchairs used the ramp for access.

After Zoe had directed his dad here, ostensibly to use the storage facilities, he'd been surprised to see him, then more surprised when his dad told him about helping his friend Mike get healthy after being severely injured, and work through acute stress disorder. He'd invited him to come see what he was doing and he promised he'd be here.

When his dad appeared, he relaxed. A few minutes later, David arrived and Sam motioned for Paulie, his favorite fill-in set leader, to step to the front and finish the session. David moved his chair to the back row and joined in the set practice.

"What do you think?" he asked him.

"I see why you need so much floor space now."

"Yeah, if you do it right you only need a three foot by three foot space, but we blocked it off in larger squares so even guys in chairs can practice t'ai chi. That's why the painted grid and the big squares."

When Sam the younger's phone rang at the same time Sam the older's phone rang, they glanced at each other and quickly reached for their phones.

Sam recognized the number. "Sheldon."

"Look, I don't want to worry you, but Zoe can't find Amanda, and she's not answering her phone."

"She was sleeping on the couch when left. Diesel was next to her."

"I'm here at the house now. Diesel's here. There's no note. Where are you?"

Sam told him.

"Then check the Cakery because you're closer."

"Will do."

"Call me when you find her."

Sam ended his call about the same his son did.

"Your mother's missing. I'm checking the cake shop. Where else would she go?"

"Home. My house. CrossAxe. She doesn't go very far."

It took hardly any time at all to verify that she wasn't at the Cakery, but she was at CrossAxe. He pulled up and could see both Amanda and David's wife inside.

He'd just stepped out of his truck when a wrecker pulled up behind him. Sam lifted his phone and called his son and then Sheldon to report the lost was found.

Amanda opened the door and approached the driver. "Hey, thanks for coming. I'm sorry, but it just stopped running, so I coasted into the lot. Here are my keys."

"Second time this month, Amanda," the driver said, taking the keys. "You need to retire that beast."

She stood there anxiously until Sam walked over and guided her back inside. "I'll take care of this. Stay out of the rain."

For a minute, she looked like she was going to argue, but she didn't. Sam turned back to speak to the driver. "Hey, Sam Axe."

"I can see that," the driver said, introducing himself. "Sam looks just like you."

"Where does she usually have this thing go?"

"There's a guy who's been fixing it over off Peacock Road."

Sam reached for his wallet and handed him a hundred. "Do you know where my son's place is on Hickory? Take it there and give him the keys. Is that enough? No? Here." He put another hundred in the man's palm.

After tow truck left with Amanda's small pickup on the bed, Sam went into the office, but shook rain off his hooded jacket before he got inside. He looked down at his wife.

"Where's your phone?"

"In my pocket."

He held out a hand. "Let's see it."

She fished it out and handed it to him.

He looked at it, pressed several keys and handed it back to her. "There. Now you can hear it ring."

"Oh. I forgot," she said, chagrinned.

"That's why Zoe and Sheldon and Sam were worried about you," he said calmly.

"Oh." She wrinkled her nose. "Well, I didn't plan on the truck—"

"About your truck? I just put it out of commission. I'm getting you a new one tomorrow. That thing doesn't have an airbag. You need something safer, and you can't put a baby seat in the one you have."

She sighed. "I usually use Zoe's . . . and Sam . . ."

"Sam has other things to do with his time besides fix a twenty something year old truck. Zoe needs her vehicle, and you need something safer."

"But I like it."

He bent down and looked down at her, nearly nose to nose and spoke slowly. "It's not safe for pregnant ladies or their babies. You're getting a new truck. Tomorrow. Now say good night, Manda."

Sometimes the woman was just too stubborn for her own good.

In the back of the office, he saw Dee Pence smiling.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

#

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"You can't take my truck away from me. It's _my truck_."

Sam didn't honor that childish remark with a reply.

"I mean it."

"Uh huh."

The rhythmic swipe of windshield wipers provided background noise for Amanda's sulking. She'd said good night to Dee Pence with a bit of a grumpy attitude and now that they were together alone, grumpy was changing into an extremely bad attitude.

"What did you do with it?"

"I didn't do anything with it. You saw it being towed."

"You had it taken someplace, I know."

"Uh huh."

"I'll just find out in the morning."

Sam slowed, braked and stopped at the red light at the intersection. "You're not driving it. It's not safe."

"It most certainly is."

The light changed and they started moving again.

"I talked to Sam about it. There are at least two gauges he continually replaces, and one of them is the gas gauge. The transmission's iffy, probably because it has over 230,000 miles on it, but he's not sure about that number since the odometer stopped working years ago. Replacement parts are no longer available for half the stuff that needs to be replaced which means he has to find used parts to keep it running, and why? Because you like old things. Has it occurred to you the kid has his hands full with his family? You don't have to rely on him for that kind of thing anymore. But that's not my concern. You're pregnant. The fact that your truck has no safety features is worrisome."

"You worry?"

The sarcasm attached to that remark told Sam it would be wise to not respond. There was no sense in escalating this. He had made up his mind. Her truck was not safe. All this episode tonight did was speed up his need to put her behind the wheel of something much safer on the road.

The distance—in miles or emotions—wasn't very far from where they had been to where they were going, but the terrain and the winding two lane road to their home made the trip much longer. The rainy conditions slowed things and the rest of the trip was made in silence.

When he parked his SUV in the driveway and turned to look at her, she was biting her lip.

"That was not necessary, and it was mean on my part." She reached across the center console to clasp his hand. "I'm sorry, Sam."

"You're getting a new vehicle tomorrow, Manda, because I want you to be safe, and because if for any reason you're in an accident I'd like knowing you and the baby have a better chance of surviving. This isn't complicated."

"I'm sorry."

"Has anyone ever told you that you're stubborn?"

"Just you and your son."

#

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#

Slow, steady rain on a tin roof was the ideal, the absolute ideal accompaniment to falling asleep. It sweetened and intensified the pleasures of other gentle activities to leave lovers with bliss-filled peace.

With Amanda resting against his chest, he knew he was going to ruin the lovely, loving moment before he did it, but the question hit him sometime this afternoon when he was watching her fall asleep on the couch, before he left to see David and then investigate Sam's unnamed buddy project. He couldn't let it go. He needed to ask her.

He'd heard her say it; now it was indelible. Small pieces of information, things without explanation, often took residence in his memory. It was a decades' old occupational hazard he'd been thankful for, but this was extremely personal, and not the business of espionage or combat.

_Thank God, he doesn't know I almost threw him away, too. And I thank God for my dad, for what he did. I couldn't have you, but I could have your son. When I got my head straight, I tried to do a good job . . . I did the best I could._

What Amanda meant and what he understood might be different things. Hadn't he just learned that? Hadn't _not_ understanding something simple altered the course of his life 30 years ago? Hadn't inaction on his part done the same thing?

Were all of their differences simple misunderstandings? Failures in communication? Was there something more he didn't understand? He had a natural inclination to correctly read and interpret responses in negotiation situations. Get it wrong, someone dies. Screw-ups aside, his record had been fairly solid as a proven operator. Comprehension of the present situation so it could lead to a desired outcome was standard procedure. So why couldn't he understand the simpler stuff with Amanda?

It continued to perplex him.

Her soft cheek was on his chest; his fingers threaded through silken soft strands of her hair while his other hand caressed her shoulder. He had forgotten how soft and smooth her skin was or how much he liked touching her.

"Manda, I don't want to argue, but . . ."

"If that isn't a dead giveaway that I'm not going to like what you're about to say, I don't know what would be." She moved her palm from caressing his ribs to where her cheek had been on his chest and propped her chin on the back of her hand to look into his face.

"I'm sorry." Now that he'd started this, he wasn't sure he wanted to finish it. He really had a problem with how he timed things with her. Maybe his problem wasn't communication as much as it was his timing? He used to be fairly adept at that, too.

She sighed and kissed his chest. "We're never going to get anywhere unless we have some of these uncomfortable conversations. But before you say anything else, I need to tell you I don't want to hear you call yourself a boy toy again. You're neither a boy nor a toy. It hurts me to hear that. Now, what don't you want to argue about?"

Sam tightened his arms around her and placed a kiss on her forehead. He closed his eyes and hugged her and her words close. If that wasn't a kind of forgiveness, it felt like it. That thing in the middle of his chest expanded. Again.

Because it made what he was about to ask even more difficult, he kissed her again.

"That night here, when we argued, you said you were glad Sam didn't know you almost threw him away. What did that mean?"

"Oh."

She looked at him, then looked away. Slowly, she separated herself from him, sat upright and then turned to clasp her arms around her knees. Her bare back was to him and she waited a few moments before she spoke. "I said that, didn't I? I was a little emotional. I forgot about that."

He could hear her inhale, waiting to leap into the past.

"I was barely 18, and they didn't have parenting classes like the kind Zoe and Sam went to before Jacob was born. Everything about taking care of a baby was really new and a lot scary. It's probably good thing Sam was tough, even as a baby. By then, I had already talked to the Navy about finding you to let you know you had a son, but they pretty much told me to go away. By the time Sam turned one, Mack had been home a couple of times and he'd say that he'd seen you, but by the time he was here, he never knew where you were."

She sighed and leaned her head on her knees, facing away from him.

"The longer you were gone the more I wondered if . . . if . . . I was a little crazy. I had seen a poster from a church. It was about not aborting your child, but they also handled adoptions. I talked to a couple of people there because I thought maybe Sam deserved having two parents instead of just me. Of course they wouldn't consider it once I told them I was married. You might have been missing, but without your consent . . ." She put both hands over her face. "I think I scared myself . . . that I'd even . . ."

He slid his arms around her shoulders and gently turned her toward him. When he first saw her face, she looked away quickly, but not before he saw the tears in her eyes and the silent flood that was washing her cheeks. Her body was rigid, she was resistant to his touch.

"My dad was sick, but for some reason, he was convinced you'd come back, and the more I looked for you, the more upset he was. He kept telling me to wait. Just wait. By the time Sam was two, I thought you had abandoned us. Then a few months later you came back.

"After . . . that . . . when you gave me your ring back, I didn't care what anyone said. It didn't matter anymore. Sam was mine, I loved him, and he needed me and I needed him. A couple of years later when Sheldon and Zoe moved here, I stopped worrying so much because we helped each other . . . you know, there were times I thought someone must have been watching over me and Sam after you left. My mother, maybe, or later my dad, or it could have been your parents, or some stray angel. I don't know. I'm sorry I even thought about it. So that's what . . . that meant."

As burdens of past were revealed, he'd felt the weight push him under. It was hard to breathe, submerged in pain, hard to get air into his lungs. In learning this, he'd become utterly enveloped by his continual need for her forgiveness and the few sweet words of redemption she offered. Now, he finally understood she might be dealing with regret the same as he was.

He wrapped his arms around her and held on as if she was his personal life vest, this loving woman who washed his chest with silent tears. He held her carefully. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." And after a long while, she was at peace again.

But Sam was not.

If only she could believe him when he said I love you.

#

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The early morning found Sam and his package of crackers taking refuge on the front porch, close to the wall by the front door, because the gentle showers of the previous evening had turned into something stronger. The leftover hurrah from a Gulf Coast hurricane being driven in a northeasterly fashion was leaving North Carolina before heading to where it was expected to join another late season storm and escalate along the upper Eastern seaboard.

He figured Amanda would use the rain as an excuse to avoid shopping for a vehicle, but he didn't plan on letting her do that.

When Diesel head butted his shoulder, his hastily consumed cracker nearly made the trip back from the way it traveled. He growled something at the mutt he was becoming too fond of, and the dog lay down with a sigh and put his face between his paws.

Sam reached over to pet his head and scratch his ears. It wasn't the dog's fault he was in this condition. It was Amanda's. No, it was his. No, it was theirs.

He was cold and damp, and after thirty minutes or so, he was solid again. This truly wasn't an enjoyable experience. After three days of Couvade Syndrome, he was ready for it to go away.

This was _not normal. Not normal._

When he opened the door to come back inside Amanda was waiting for him with two large towels, but they weren't for him.

"Hold up. You need to dry off Diesel, otherwise the whole house is going to smell like wet dog. Are you okay?"

He realized she didn't look the least bit ill this morning. That was interesting. "I'm fine."

She smiled. "Me, too."

By the time he finished with his shower and brought his soiled clothing and the wet towels to the cozy laundry area off the kitchen which had previously been a porch, he could hear her talking on the phone.

He turned on the burner under the tea kettle and sliced yesterday's loaf of her homemade bread for toast.

"Do you know what Sam just told me?"

"Not unless you tell me."

"Have you talked to him?"

He turned around before he depressed the toaster lever and faced her. "Today? No. What's up?"

"My truck."

"Amanda—"

"He says he's not giving it back to me! Did you do this?"

"Nope." He couldn't help himself. He smiled.

"That is _my _truck."

"We know that."

"_I want my truck back, Sam."_

"We know that, too."

She stood there, hands on her hips, barefoot with sparkly blue toes, wearing faded, tattered jeans she couldn't completely zip or button and a pale pink t-shirt without a bra underneath. Her hair was tied up in a curly fuzzy ponytail on top of her head. Just looking at the woman zinged that thing in the middle of his chest. She was adorable. Some old expression about having a wife barefoot and pregnant in a kitchen came to mind, as did several other things. He smiled.

Apparently she was a mind reader because she shook her head and started to leave the room, but not before he caught her in his arms for a quick kiss.

She'd returned the kiss for a moment, and then a moment quite a bit longer, and then apparently she remembered she was irritated with him. She pushed herself out of his arms. "Men!"

He laughed. "Do you want some toast?"

"I already had breakfast. I'm not the one with morning sickness today."

"Really?"

"Really." It was Amanda's turn for laughter.

#

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#

Amanda loved her new truck. It was purely a luxury vehicle, to her way of thinking, because Sam and Sam insisted her well-loved, cute as a bug, short-bed pick-up truck, scented by many years of spritzing Chanel near her throat, was permanetly decommissioned.

Her new one was exactly like Zoe's. Except it was red, not white, and a year newer. There weren't that many colors to choose from, but after driving a blue truck for so many years, it was fun to change.

She wanted to be angry with Sam, but she couldn't be.

The entire vehicle shopping trip had been fun. Of course, there wasn't much shopping involved. He'd pulled into the dealership and parked and told her to go pick out what she wanted from the SUV line, and if she didn't pick one out, he would. There were even two of them in the showroom inside, out of the rain, so she could stay dry while she asked questions.

That almost seemed like it had been planned, she thought.

Their son had been on his way to his warehouse when he saw his dad's vehicle and stopped. The two Sams talked while she'd taken the SUV she liked for a test drive in the rain with the salesman. It really did feel safe and solid on the road and heavier, which it was. It really was a much different type of vehicle than her small truck.

She liked it. A lot.

She told her Sams about all of that when she returned.

"You can't beat this SUV for safety features, Ma. Do you know they use it for testing other vehicles in their fleet? It's solid, and it's virtually impossible to get one to roll, even when they try. The center of gravity is different and they sit lower to the ground," her son pointed out. "You're going to love it the same way Zoe loves hers. It's good for keeping kids safe, too."

"But it's not made in America." It was her closing move in the weak argument she no longer had the heart for.

"These are built in Alabama."

"Oh."

She was sitting next to her son while waiting for the vehicle to appear after the final dealer inspection while Sam took care of the last of the paperwork.

When he stepped out of the office he handed her the essential things she needed to keep with the vehicle—the license application, registration and temporary insurance status. She reached up and pulled his head down and kissed his cheek. "Thank you."

"Drive careful, Manda. The rain's let up but you still have to watch out for the other guy."

"Worrywart. I'm going to show Sheldon and Zoe and then come back to the Cakery."

Sam the younger stood behind her with a thumbs up sign, just as her new truck appeared outside the door. It had been warmed and all she had to do was get in and adjust seats and mirrors. The salesperson helped her do that and spent more time explaining how the radio and some of the higher tech features worked.

Sam watched and smiled. The woman he loved and the child she carried were now going to be surrounded by airbags, from the top, the front, and both sides.

His son clapped his shoulder. "Good job, Dad. I didn't think anybody could get her out of that old truck."

"Yeah, but she's still upset about it. I wouldn't put it past her—"

"It's locked in the warehouse back shop and I swiped her spare key this morning after you left the house. By the way, are you still coming to the buddy project?"

"Wouldn't miss it."

Amanda turned and waved to them and drove away.

Sam laughed again as he waved to his mother. "Kind of glad you showed up, Dad."

"Me, too, Sam. Me, too," he said softly.

#

#

#

It'd been almost a year since he'd seen Nick Carnahan. He was pushing a man in a wheelchair up the ramp to Sam's warehouse.

Most of the men who were in chairs had the motorized type, and it appeared this man's chair had a problem because Sam could see the battery pack underneath.

As soon as Nick saw Sam he grinned, then said something to the man in the chair who laughed. They walked toward each other and met like old friends, exchanging hugs.

"Good to see you, Nick," Sam said with a huge smile.

Carnahan laughed. "Sam, meet my brother Jack. We had a long talk about someone named Sam Axe and I decided there must be two of you or you had a son."

He reached to shake Jack's hand. "Nick's brother, huh? Well, he's a good man."

"I agree." His legs were missing below his knees. "Good to meet you, Sam Axe," he laughed. "Yeah, you're related, aren't you?"

"We share the name and the same birthday. How about that?"

"Birthday, too?" Jack laughed. "We knew it had to be something like that. I told Nick my captain's name was Sam Axe, and he said, no, Sam Axe was a former SEAL who worked with the CIA. So we were both right."

"That you were."

"Are you here now?" Jack wondered. "Helping Sam?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"Good. That's good. Sorry, but I'm going to go—" Jack nodded toward the group of men by the weights.

"Oh, yeah," Nick said. "Hey, let me get that other chair for you."

In a matter of moments they swapped wheelchairs. Nick had retrieved a standard, lightweight chair for his brother to use. With Jack off to join in a group of men working with weights, the power chair he'd arrived in had been hooked up to a charging device, and Nick and Sam had time to talk.

They found an alcove where they could watch what Jack was doing and sit and talk. "Did Westen live? He didn't look like he was going to make it," Carnahan said.

"Yeah, it was real bad, but he kept fighting. He's good now. They have a son. What happened to your brother?"

"IED. His team pulled him out. I got to tell you, Sam, this place, what your son's doing here . . . this is . . . "

"Like a lifeline."

"Yeah."

"Are you still taking jobs?" Sam wondered.

"Trying to decide what to do next. Raines has been really decent about this, and he told me they're still talking about who in intel they want coordinating with the new Defense Clandestine Service. I actually think that came about after that mess . . . anyway, I'd be fine with that if it we were here in the states, but they're focusing on Africa and China. I'm sure you heard about it," Nick said.

"Just a little here and there. Talked to Raines myself before I left Miami to come back here. How long have you been away?"

"About six months. When Jack finally got out of the hospital, ah, well, actually when my sister-in-law called and begged for help, I couldn't say no. He'd tried . . ."

Sam stopped him. "He looks good now. Is he past . . .?"

"I think so. I hope so. Sam's friend David . . . that guy really helped Jack a lot."

"David Pence? I just met him."

"Yeah, he was leading a special ops team in Vietnam years ago when he got hurt. That guy's solid as rock. Good man."

They caught up, like teammates do, hitting the high and low spots about their lives since they last worked together. By the time Jack rejoined them, it was lunch time and someone had ordered pizzas. Wallets opened, the pizza guy was paid and tipped well, since most of the men there knew him from their unit.

Sam and Nick were enjoying listening to Jack and his former teammates talk about building a school in Iraq and about the kids and dogs they'd befriended when Sam wondered if Diesel wouldn't be a good addition to the mix here.

When his phone jangled in his pocket, he answered. It was David, who got straight to the point.

"Have you seen Amanda? We had an appointment at noon and she never called and she's not answering her phone. That's not like her. I'm concerned." It was just a few minutes after two now.

Sam told him what they'd done this morning, and excused himself from the group to call Sheldon and Zoe. Neither had seen her. From the time she left the dealership until now, no one had seen her. Four hours. Panic settled in, escalated his heart rate and creased every worry line on his face.

An extrasentory perception whispered to him that something was seriously wrong.

Sheldon immediately said he'd go to the house to see if she was there. Sam called his son over to tell him what was happening, and when his phone rang again, he answered.

It was Sheldon. He'd found the house empty and was heading into town. Sam looked at his son and said he'd go check the Cakery. He tried her phone again. No answer. That made him crazy. The woman had to stop turning off her phone.

#

#

#

Sheldon hadn't gone more than a mile from the Axe homestead when he was slowed by a line of vehicles with brake lights on that curved down the hill. He was stopped dead on the blacktopped surface by a roadblock.

An chill not related to the weather washed over him.

There was a glare of color transfused through rain of white, red and blue flashing lights from a collection of emergency vehicles, wreckers, fire trucks and state and county police cars. The counterpoints against out-of-sync flashing lights in the rain-grayed atmosphere were the red fire trucks and neon yellow of rain coats worn by EMTs, firemen and police officers.

He pulled his truck off on the shoulder behind a line of cars with warning flashers blinking, and parked, then flipped on his own emergency flashing lights and walked closer to investigate what appeared to be the scene of an accident. Dread deepened with every step he took closer to the scene.

When he spotted a familiar mass of blonde hair on a lightweight stretcher being moved into the back of an ambulance, he yelled. "Hey! Hey there! I know her!"

Sheldon could just about guess what happened, and he felt like he'd been hit by a Howitzer with the realization that Amanda was hurt.

He hurried past cops who were yelling at him to stay back, but he knew it was imperative that he let the EMTs know their patient was pregnant.

One of them was squinting at a syringe filled with something just as he reached the back of the vehicle. "Hey there, careful what you give her. She's pregnant."

"She's pregnant? Is this your wife?"

"No, but she's family. That's Amanda Axe—she's four months pregnant."

"Thanks. Hey, is this Sam Axe's mom?" one familiar looking EMT asked.

"Yeah."

"Tell him we're taking her to Regional."

With that the rear doors were pulled closed, and the ambulance driver flipped on the siren and left the scene.

Sheldon stood in the rain and called Sam and told him where he'd found Amanda and what the EMT told him.

He turned back to where he'd left his truck, and stopped to take a more careful look to see if he could determine what had happened.

Off to one side of the road a semi-truck with a trailer was tipped on its side, wheels off pavement, angled across the road. The trailer was being set upright, lifted and moved by the two-stage boom arm connected to a semi-sized tow truck that was stable and braced against the pavement.

Across from it, the guardrail told another story. A section was missing. What remained was scraped, curled and split. A second tow truck was also locked down on pavement, using a winch to pull up the cranberry red SUV from the ravine where it'd landed. The loud screech of metal touching metal was unnerving. The entire front passenger side was bashed in, and it was obvious from the collection of dents on every surface and the broken branches and limbs stuck in the undercarriage that it had rolled over several times before coming to a rest.

He looked down the hill and saw the path of broken shrubs and splintered saplings from where it had traveled. If it would have rolled once more, it would dropped into an even deeper ravine.

It looked like every airbag inside the vehicle deployed, but those on the driver's side had been sliced and deflated, and the door had been cut away from the vehicle, apparently to remove Amanda.

Sheldon quickly used his phone to take several pictures of the frightening damage to Amanda's new SUV before turning to take photos of the semi. Then he called his son-in-law and reported what he saw. A few minutes later, he sent the images to Sam the younger's phone.

Sam and his dad were at the hospital now, and waiting to find out what was happening with Amanda. Sheldon promised to join them as soon as he went home and changed into dry clothing. But he stopped before he reached his truck when he saw a lone figure off to one side, leaning on a police cruiser, his head in his hands, obviously in distress.

"Hey, you okay there?" Sheldon asked.

"No. That poor woman."

"You were driving the truck, weren't you? Did you get hurt?"

"No, but I saw her face. She was so scared. My load shifted and . . ."

The man's arm was bandaged, and he could see it tucked up inside his jacket. But the man was soaked. The rain had let up, but it was still coming down steadily. Sheldon could see he was trembling and having a reaction of some kind. Then he took a closer look.

This was some kind of true medical emergency. He clapped an arm around his shoulders just as he began to lose consciousness and sink to the ground. Sheldon yelled at one of the firefighters who was walking away after releasing the chain that pulled up Amanda's damaged vehicle to set it solidly on pavement.

"Help over here! Help!"

A yellow-slickered cop and two yellow-jacketed firefighters appeared nearly instantly; they evaluated the patient and opted to not call for another ambulance. Instead, they'd decided to save time by using the chief's SUV to transport their new patient to the same ER they'd taken Amanda to ten minutes earlier.

#

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#

He wasn't sure what they were doing with or to her, but he wanted to know, and no one was talking. He told them she was pregnant and the nurse said they knew that.

Sam knew he was on the wrong side of the woman guarding the window outside the ER when she told him to sit down and wait. A few minutes later, his son asked and was told the same thing. Ten minutes later, he requested permission to go back to be with her, and was told to wait in the same rude tone she had used earlier.

It didn't matter if he was her husband, he was not being allowed anywhere near her.

Worse, no one was sharing an ounce of information about Amanda's condition. He knew he was being irrational, but he wanted to be there, to see what was happening to her.

And, now, he wanted to hit something.

His son, however, was a voice of reason. "Come on, Dad. Let's sit down over there. Let them do their jobs. They'll let us know when they can tell us something."

Sam knew he was right and he struggled to find the composure he'd routinely employed during a thousand stress-filled, life and death situations, but he couldn't.

Thirty minutes of antsy behavior later, his son grabbed his arm and roughly steered him outside into the cold, damp air and pushed him against a brick wall.

His voice was deep, stern and grim. "I'll be happy to put you on your butt again if you don't cool it. Mom doesn't need you in this condition."

He jerked away from Sam's grip and headed back to the ER waiting room but he hadn't taken two steps away when he found himself spun around and slammed back, hard, into the wall again. "I mean that."

This time, he locked on his son's eyes, eyes the same color as Amanda's.

Father and son focused on each other. Sam closed his eyes and felt himself deflate under his son's commanding presence.

He inhaled and the grip he had on his son's arm relaxed and softened as he pulled him toward him for a hug. "I'm sorry, Sam."

"I understand, Dad. But, you know they won't let you in to see her if you aren't calm. You know that," his son told him quietly.

Sam took a cleansing, calming breath. Then he took another one. "I'm sorry."

"I understand going crazy, all right? I understand. Take a minute. Take two."

Sam nodded. "I . . . I'm sorry. I just can't—"

"Lose her," his son filled in.

"Yeah. That's it."

"I know." Father and son met each other's gaze.

Sam straightened up. Of course his son understood. Hadn't they been here in this same hospital just a few months ago when doctors were trying to save Zoe from suffering a stroke?

He brushed himself off and tucked his shirt back in his pants.

"You okay now?"

"No, but I'm good to go back."

"That's enough."

Sheldon had arrived just as he saw Sam shove his father into the wall and brace for a physical exchange. He'd stayed back and had watched the whole scene. Now, he breathed easily.

The Axe family, no matter what had happened in the past, had reformed itself. He debated joining them and then opted to wait. He'd already enjoyed many father and son moments that Sam had missed with his son.

They could take care of each other now. Amanda would be pleased.

He called Zoe to tell her what he'd witnessed, but it took no convincing her to believe they all loved one another, despite the missing 30 years of Sam's life with theirs.

#

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#

Her baby. That was her first thought.

Everything hurt. That was her second.

She waited, sensing. She didn't hurt there. Her baby was all right wasn't she?

What hurt more than anything was her hair for some reason. It felt as if every single strand had been pulled, follicle by follicle. Maybe it had been. Maybe she was feeling her scalp, not her hair.

Her lip felt swollen and ached.

She could only open one eye a tiny bit, because the other seemed to be bandaged shut.

The fingers of her left hand were taped to something and she couldn't move them. And her right hand was taped to something else. It felt much colder than her left hand. Why?

She wanted to touch the child in her womb but she couldn't move her hands.

Something was beeping. What was that?

She thought she could move her knees. She could wiggle her toes, but what was that under her left leg? A pillow?

She shut the eye she'd opened again and tried to think. She was pretty sure she was in a hospital, but why? Thinking was hard, so she closed her eyes again.

Someone was holding her hand, the one that was so cold, and it felt good, warm flesh next to hers, warming her. Had someone kissed her lips? She couldn't tell.

She wanted Sam. She wanted Sam.

She wanted to say it but she drifted away again, back to that gray place where there was no noise and focused on the warmth of the hand touching hers that felt so good. So good.

The next time she opened her eye, warm brown eyes were looking at her. She wanted to smile but it hurt.

"Hey, there you are."

His lips touched hers, lightly, gently. She tried to smile but she couldn't, and the gray was such a pleasant place where nothing hurt so she returned to it.

The next time she woke, she could see from both eyes. She could see the wall with the TV held by a bracket of some sort in the corner up high, a white plastic board with her name printed on it in black and a bunch of red hearts around her name.

Her hand was tucked inside someone else's hand. Sam.

She closed her eyes again, briefly, if only to savor his presence. He was sitting on a chair next to the bed. He was holding her hand with one of his, and his head was on the bed, sleeping, maybe. His other hand was there, where she wanted to put hers, on the baby, but she couldn't move her hand.

Amanda wanted to talk to him, but she couldn't find her voice and her tongue felt fat. She couldn't find anything except the gray wall so she turned back to it again.

The next time she woke up, she opened her eyes to see Sam looking at her, smiling.

"Hey, how are you feeling?"

"I don't . . . know."

Then she focused and looked into his eyes. "The baby?"

"The baby is fine. Fine."

"Mmmm."

And then she saw the gray.

She heard them then. Her Sams. They were talking to someone, but she didn't understand.

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"She is a very lucky, lucky woman. Trauma is, well, traumatic, and often a non-obstetric cause of death in pregnant women. The fetal monitoring, which is an extremely accurate way to measure fetal status after trauma, tells us your baby is doing well. He has a very strong heartbeat. Your wife's doctor will want to keep track of that as well. We'll send over all our reports to him. Don't let her miss an appointment.

"The fact that she was wearing seatbelt and the vehicle had airbags probably saved her life. We saw the photos of that accident; she's lucky. You're a lucky. Most people would not be able to walk away from an accident like that. Her bumps and bruises will heal, but she's going to need a little more time with that. She really got banged up."

The doctor looked at his son and then Sam. She smiled. "I understand this is your second child?"

Sam ducked his head. "Yeah. I don't have an explanation if you're looking for one."

His son grinned at him.

"No, but I want to emphasize that you must to make sure she doesn't miss an appointment with her OB/GYN. Pregnancies for mature women have their own kind of risk, without the added factor of trauma."

Sam nodded. "Will do."

When Amanda and Zoe emerged from the room where Zoe had been helping Amanda get dressed, she was sitting in a wheel chair with a large teddy bear on her lap. Jacob and Noah had brought it for her to hug when they'd come to visit yesterday.

Amanda didn't want her grandsons to see her while she was looking scary, she said, but Zoe had a different viewpoint. "This isn't about you, Manda, it's them. They need to see you. OK?"

Sam was holding his baby daughter while they were waiting and Sheldon was entertaining Jacob and Noah until Zoe and Sam returned home.

Sam had not left Amanda's side for the past five days except for quick trips home to shower, shave and change his clothing. He knew he'd have a lot of laundry to tend to after he got Amanda home.

And right now, that was all he wanted to do: take her home.

#

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"It feels like it was a month ago, not just a week since I was here," Amanda said.

Sam was helping her take off her jacket. The left side of her body had a collection of bruises that ran from her collarbone across her breast and down her arm; they touched her hip and upper thigh. At least the purple in her fingers was fading, but the impression of the seatbelt was clear as it could be, in various shades of purple, blue and black.

The gash in her hairline had been stitched and was healing. Sometime later today he'd promised to help her wash her hair in the shower. She'd been told not to get it wet, but he'd conferred with a nurse who told him how to let her have clean hair and not harm the dissolvable stiches.

She had a collection of bandages that would need tending. Elbow. Knee. Thigh. Ankle. Sam had learned she didn't complain about pain, which didn't mean she could hide it. He could see the response on her face and it reverberated as if it was his pain, too.

She'd made Sam show her the photos of her new truck and of the accident and then had closed her eyes. "I think my guardian angel was watching over me," she'd said.

"All those airbags helped," her son told her.

Now that her jacket was off, Sam handed her a footed cane. "This is ridiculous, but handy," she said.

"So where to? Living room or bedroom?"

"I really need to lie down," she admitted.

He couldn't take watching her struggle with the cane, so he picked her up and carried her to their bed.

She pressed a soft kiss to his cheek as he lowered her to the bed.

"Are you okay? Do you want . . . ?" he asked.

Her eyes were dark, pleading. "Please, Sam, please be by me. Stay with me."

How could he not? He removed her shoes, then his and lay next to her on the bed. She was on her right side, the side that didn't hurt, turned toward him. She used her left hand to caress his face.

Sweet, light kisses were just enough.

"That was scary," she said. "Really scary." And then she closed her eyes. Sleep found her within seconds.

He watched as he'd been watching her sleep for days.

Yes, that was scary. Really scary. Breath-stealing, heart-stopping scary.

Because he couldn't lose her. Not now.

How could she know she held the power to keep him from being swamped by uncertain waters, terrorized by dragons, and falling off the edge of a flat world?


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

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Three and a half weeks after her near-death experience, Amanda debated driving again.

Her replacement SUV had been parked in the driveway, tempting her for a week.

She was standing at the back door of the kitchen looking at it. Thinking.

Sam said he didn't park it there to tempt her. He did it because she needed a safe vehicle.

She knew better.

He'd parked that SUV there to tempt her. He could have put it inside the garage, but he didn't. Why? Because she'd made the mistake of telling him she was a little afraid to get behind the wheel again.

"I understand, Manda," he'd said in a completely soothing tone of voice. "It's natural. It wouldn't be normal if you didn't feel that way. I'll take you where you want to go, and when you're ready to drive again, you'll know and you'll be fine."

It was annoying when he was so rational.

So reasonable.

So kind.

So caring.

So thoughtful.

Maybe she just hadn't adjusted to the fact that he hadn't left her side since he brought her home from the hospital.

Was this too much togetherness?

It might be.

Ooohmp.

Or this might be too much togetherness. She put both hands across her belly and her incredibly active infant soccer player who, when his father put his hands on her belly, calmed. Sam always smiled when that happened. Amanda always frowned because when she put her hands there nothing changed, not the knee bending, elbow pushing or foot races.

She wondered if her attitude might be related to pregnancy more than anything else. This boy was far more active than she remembered Sam being. Of course, she might have forgotten a thing or two, or maybe a lot, about being pregnant in the past 34 years. It was very different, observing Zoe's pregnancies, from living her own.

Fifty-two. Good grief, what had she been thinking?

That was the problem. She hadn't been thinking.

What she'd been thinking left no room to consider the possibility she could get pregnant. She was thinking it had been so long, so very, very long since she had been able to show him she loved him, and so she did . . . and now she was living that.

It seemed, since the accident, she'd blossomed into a very, very pregnant woman in the last month. In another three and a half months she'd have a baby.

Sometimes, when she caught sight of herself in a mirror, she had to stop and absorb it all.

Sometimes she could hardly believe this turn in her life.

Sometimes it made her smile.

Sometimes it made her sad.

And sometimes, she'd catch Sam watching her, and when she did, he'd smile at her and it was always the same— missing something she didn't understand.

Like other things she didn't want to think about, she pushed them off to the side. Later. She'd deal with those things later, because there was always later, when she'd be by herself again. She'd think about those things then.

Maybe, despite togetherness with Sam, she had been too isolated. A good portion of her current self-induced seclusion had to do with privacy and her need for it.

She had always been an intensely private person. Her circle of friends and family was small and comfortable. Beyond their safety and loyalty, she found other relationships less pleasant.

Her privacy began eroding when Sam arrived, looking just like her son's father. More slipped away each time he'd invaded the feminine confines and formerly safe haven of Rosey's Spa. When it became a question of was she or was she not pregnant, she lost another page of personal life to public scrutiny. But it was the spectacular accident she'd survived that drew back the curtain on her private life. The newspaper headline read: Pregnant woman survives crash.

There was a dramatic half page color photo of her truck as it was pulled up from the cliff next to semi-truck trailer on its side, and another full page of images that appeared in the morning newspaper the day after the crash.

The story was informative and accurate—regrettably informative and accurate for an intensely private woman. If they didn't know it before, it was now preserved in print. She was a 52-year old pregnant grandma. She wasn't sorry about that; she was sorry reporters were such blabbermouths.

She hadn't been aware of the photos or the newspaper story until Zoe brought the paper to her one day last week. She'd left the boys and baby with her and Sam while she finished baking the last of the layers for the largest wedding cake order they had to date.

At first Amanda thought the reason for Zoe's discomfort was telling her that her namesake granddaughter would now be called Abby, a family decision encouraged by Jacob and Noah who had decided their sister needed her own name since their grandma was using her name.

Amanda had been charmed by the serious nature of the conversation with the boys, and Sam had watched the exchange from the doorway. "Gwandma," Noah said so sweetly, "she needs her own name but me and Jacob think Abwee Ella is hard. We call her Abby. Is that okay with you?"

Jacob then requested that whatever name she and Grandpa Sam picked for their new baby should not be Sam. All was well when Amanda assured him they wouldn't do that.

When Zoe pulled out a newspaper from her diaper bag and laid it on the table, Amanda watched Sam turn away. She caught their brief exchange and realized there a discussion preceded this moment.

"You'll want to know about this, Manda," Zoe said, as she handed her the newspaper. Obviously, Sam knew the story existed.

Zoe also filled her in on the status of her truck, another situation which Sam obviously knew about.

"You should know the dealer just swapped your new truck for the old one. They really, really wanted it. Now, they've got that ugly, mangled mess sitting on top of some kind of decking and they're using it to sell SUVs. Safest vehicle on the road, they're saying. It's obnoxious," she explained.

Amanda stopped, glanced at the newspaper then took a moment to read it and turn to the pages inside with more photos.

So much for privacy. So much for living her life under the radar.

She and Sam had avoided conversation about anything related to the newspaper story or the SUV until after Zoe collected her sweet baby girl and her boys. When they finally did talk, the conversation was too brief.

He said he hadn't told her about it because he didn't want her to worry or relive it. She realized he really didn't understand her concerns.

He wasn't aware of the same things she was. Trips to her doctor's office and the grocery store told her they'd become the focus of too many eyes. The only privacy she had was at home, with her family. Talk about déjà vu all over again.

She would deal with this now the same way she did after Sam left. The first step was to live, and the second step was to ignore innuendo.

She could do this. She knew she could.

Sam had left first thing this morning to help with a project Sam was working on at the warehouse.

Which left Amanda still looking at that new SUV, holding the keys to it and making a decision. Grabbing her cell phone from the charger on the counter where Sam left it, she stuck it in her purse, checked her hair and dabbed on lipstick. Most of her facial bruises were gone, so at least she wouldn't frighten children now.

She needed a pedicure.

She wanted to see Zoe's cake support now that it was ready.

She needed to talk to David in person.

The pavement was dry. The sun was shining.

She started the truck and put it in reverse then depressed the audio button when James Taylor started singing some sweet love song. She didn't need a radio to distract her. Not today.

She was doing something familiar.

She had driven on that road so many times in her life she couldn't even count. She knew every bend, bump, crooked spot, wiggle, wobble, low spot or high spot on the pavement in daylight or darkness. When it was resurfaced, she learned the new ones. She'd had near misses from other drivers who edged too close to the center line, but until the accident, she'd never even had a fender bender.

When her body stopped hurting and her bruises started fading, her memory of the accident returned piece by piece, scene by scene, until she put it together. One night she told Sam what she remembered, and when she finished, he'd taken her in his arms and held her for a long, long time.

It happened ten minutes after she'd driven away in the new SUV. In the slow motion of memory, the accident took much longer than the mere seconds in which it actually occurred.

She remembered driving up the wide hill before hitting the flatter section of pavement that would take her past her own driveway when she saw the semi come around the corner, hugging the wall. The driver wasn't speeding, but she could she he was in trouble between the rain, the 45 degree incline, slick pavement, and whatever was rolling around inside the trailer.

She could see the instant the load shifted inside when rear wheels lifted off pavement. Horrified, she watched as the trailer turned and slid toward her. She'd slowed, hoping to give the driver a chance to correct, but the trailer was coming at her, faster and faster.

There was no place to go.

To her left, a guardrail and a drop-off. To her right, she'd be directly in front of the tractor and, at its rate of speed, she would have been shoved under the truck or into rammed into the steep granite wall that rose a hundred feet in the air. In less than a heartbeat, she heard his brakes, saw his face and then the trailer's movement slapped her vehicle through the guardrail, right over the edge.

First came the ugly thumping sound, then she saw sky, then trees, then sky, then trees, then nothing again until that kid who went to school with Sam slashed through an airbag and started yelling at her and everyone around him. She felt his hands under her arms, and then nothing until she remembered Sam talking to her, holding her hand.

Amanda slowly inhaled and exhaled. It was an awful accident, and she'd survived.

Once before, she had struggled to not let fear control her life and she wasn't going to give in to it now. She glanced out the side windows of her new SUV and watched for traffic, then pulled out. It was time to take care of her life.

Pedicure first.

#

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Driving a bit under the speed limit, she was fine. She parked in front of Rosalee's and realized her good fortune to be here so early. It was the least busy time of the day. Rosalee was putting a plastic mitt over Dee's hand encased in paraffin, a softening treatment, when Amanda opened the door and walked in.

"I sure missed the smell of acetone," she said.

"You've come to the right place. I figured I would see you when you were ready to rejoin the world. Come on back. Your favorite chair is empty."

Amanda greeted Dee and guessed what the reason she was here. "That looks like you have work to do. Where are you going this time?"

"Just New York. David hasn't been feeling well, and I don't want to be gone long, but I couldn't turn it down."

Amanda raised a brow.

"It was a lovely offer of payment for photographing my cheekbones. A truly obscene amount of money, so I took it."

"I love knowing my work's going to be photographed for _Vogue_. Show her that ugly color, Dee."

Dee waved her mitts in the air and laughed.

"Ooops. Here, Manda. It's the hot new neutral, soon to be seen in women's magazines everywhere. Want to try it?" Rosalee passed a bottle of pale brownish pink polish to Amanda before measuring mineral salts into the foot spa for her.

"I don't understand when they say _new_ and _neutral_. Are they kidding us?"

Dee laughed. "That's how you sell fashion magazines and fashions."

"Did Sam bring you or did you drive?" Dee glanced at Amanda as she sunk her feet into warm, mechanically swirling water and sighed with pleasure.

"I got brave and drove. Of course I still have to go back home, but I think I'll be okay."

"You'll be fine," Rosalee assured her. "Drive while you can before your doctor tells you to stop driving, and that looks like it'll be soon. Don't mind me, but are you having twins?"

Amanda laughed. "The sonogram says it's just one, but this baby has gotten really big, really fast."

"Was your first pregnancy like this?" Dee wondered.

"I suppose so. But this baby is so active. I don't remember that with Sam."

"Was there a circus around your red truck when you came by?" Rosalee asked.

"A few cars were there. It's strange to see it on display." Amanda frowned. "I don't understand that."

"It's just small town mania. It's the most excitement we've had here since the Guard came home. Or your husband finally showed up. Don't worry, this won't last much longer," Rosalee predicted.

"You'll be yesterday's news before you know it. We've all been there," Dee said with a smile.

Rosalee laughed. "True." She removed the paraffin encompassing Dee's perfectly pedicured feet and then admired her work on Dee's toes.

These two women were Amanda's dearest friends and had been for years. They kept each other's secrets, applauded each other's victories and mourned their losses. When they met, Amanda had been freshly-branded as a cheating wife who was earning money by baking cakes. Dee had one child and was expecting her second and remained not married to David, but she hadn't given up proposing to him. Rosalee's husband had left town with the Methodist minster's wife, leaving her with two children and a stack of bills five miles high.

They'd met at the small surprise party David's parents arranged following his graduation from law school. Amanda made the cake.

Dee had been pushed away by her family, and the final shove came when she became pregnant with David's second child without marriage. But she had been welcomed with open arms by David's parents who treasured their grandson, and often helped Dee until she could help herself. Many of her financial worries ended when a modeling scout traveling through the area saw her with her oldest son. The rest had been history. Rosalee had been helping David's mother with housekeeping, and she had insisted she take a night off from the two jobs she held to attend the party. Grudgingly, she did.

Before the met, they each knew each other's public stories; until that night at David's party, they didn't know the private anguish each lived. Their friendships formed quickly, set solidly and endured. They helped each other, trusted each other and relied on each other.

Having both of them together here, was exactly what Amanda needed today.

"I was going to stop and see you and David before I go home. Are you going to be there or . . .?"

"David will. One of the boys needs drive me to High Point to catch my flight."

"You have such good sons. How long will you be gone?"

"Not long, just 48 hours."

Rosalee removed the paraffin gloves encasing Dee's hands.

Dee slid her feet into white socks and canvas shoes before she handed Rosalee an envelope.

It was Sam who held open the door for Dee as she left the shop. They spoke briefly and then he walked straight to where Amanda was sitting and held out his hand, palm up.

"What?"

"Your phone?"

She reached into her purse and handed it to him. "It's not on? I unplugged it and put it in my purse."

"My fault then. Leave it on, okay? Miss Rosalee," he added, nodding.

He leaned down and kissed Amanda's lips quickly and handed her the phone. "See you at home?"

Rosalee watched as he left and held the door for two of her technicians who were coming to work. "Are you two still good?" she wondered.

"Yeah, we are."

And they were, at least for the next hour.

#

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Amanda's new pedicure featured sparkly pink polish on her toes, after which she checked in to see that all was well at The Cakery. Later this week she and Zoe would be completing their largest wedding cake project to date.

It was seven tiers high; each tier was comprised of three layers, 7 inches deep with cake and another inch with icing. Each cake tier was separated by a tier of roses.

As each layer of cake was served, the base it sat on slid flat onto the base below it, and when all of the cake was consumed, what would be left was a tiered concoction of white rosebuds with the final, smallest top tier of cake to be saved and frozen for a first wedding anniversary.

It was ethereal, it was gorgeous. It required hiring contractors: a mechanical engineer, a carpenter, a tool and die maker, and a grad student who wrote the software to control the pneumatics. Following assembly in the grand ballroom of a Greensboro hotel, it would require photography.

In some parts of the wedding industry, it was a $75,000 cake that Amanda and Zoe had figured out how to make for $8,000 and that included their profit.

The father of the bride was deliriously happy about that.

They'd been perfecting plans for almost a year. Now the telescoping structure for the tiers and roses was completed, and Amanda wanted to see it in person. After she examined it, she called Zoe at home. The retired mechanical engineer and carpenter who constructed it deserved no less than an award for their technical expertise, she told her. "I can't wait for the telescoping demonstration."

After she left The Cakery, she drove around CrossAxe and parked next to David's van in front of his office.

She wanted to follow up with him in person about the gift she wanted sent to the semi-truck driver who had lost his job because of the accident that had been beyond his control. When she learned from Sheldon that he'd suffered a cardiac episode at the scene and had been taken to the hospital, her heart went out to him.

It was something she did, and something she didn't discuss with anyone but David.

She'd learned that if she did, she was viewed as naïve or gullible, or as someone being taken advantage of when she made charitable gifts to people others perceived as someone taking advantage of her. She'd learned to hide her involvement and make gifts anonymously. It kept everyone saner, and David was always happy to help her and do the research that would verify her decision as correct.

He'd yet to find a person she'd made this decision about who was not genuinely in need.

She had gone to talk to the driver before she left the hospital and he'd been so apologetic and so thankful her baby was fine and that she hadn't been more seriously hurt, despite his own problems. When she fully realized what some of his problems were, she decided to help him.

She wanted to know if David had taken care of that already.

It wasn't an overly generous gift, but it would certainly be a bridge the man could use. David promised he'd check in on his situation in another month.

Amanda thought they were done and started to say good-bye when David stopped her.

He wanted her to be aware of what her husband wanted to do with his half of CrossAxe, and he needed to give her the documents she needed.

She stopped and sat down in the nearest chair.

Her voice was soft, her expression disbelieving. "He wants to . . . what?"

"Turn it over to you or you and your son."

She was numb for a moment before she finally glanced down and flipped through the documents David had obviously spent a great deal of time preparing. One caught her attention.

"The trust?"

"At your discretion—for yourself or Sam."

"Sam's already taken care of in the . . . and this? A will?"

"It is the reason you agreed to let me locate him before he arrived, if you'll remember," David said quietly. "That just fills in the items you'd left blank when we discussed this a few months ago, just before he arrived."

She felt a wave of sorrow engulf her. "This is not . . ." She couldn't finish her thought out loud.

David read the emotion in her eyes. "I did ask him why he wanted to do this. He said he didn't want to hurt you."

"I see," Amanda said softly. "I'll read these and call you if I don't understand something." Then she took a deep breath. "And I'll let you know what I . . . we decide."

"I gave him his copy of this earlier today."

She put her hand over her heart then. "His copy. Her copy. Great. That's just . . . great." She tucked the small elegantly prepared document portfolio in her shoulder bag, nodded sadly to David and left.

David hoped Sam Axe was smarter than David's current opinion of his intelligence.

#

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Sam came through the kitchen door around 3, and was quickly followed by Diesel. A few seconds later, the storm hit, and a few seconds after that, they lost electrical power. It was a frequent enough occurrence that being prepared was part of day to day life in this part of the world.

It was dark enough outside to need illumination indoors, but light enough that it was easy to locate flashlights, candles and a hurricane lamp.

Amanda had been sitting on the couch reading the documents David had given her. She set her pile to the side on the blanket chest next to the couch.

Sam joined her and sat next to her, then put his sock-encased feet on the low table in front of it.

"You drove. How did you like it?"

"I did. Thank you for taking care of the SUV for me."

"Were you . . . okay?"

"I was. It was a little strange on the way down, but I had other things on my mind on the way home, so I didn't think about much besides that."

When he didn't say anything, she turned to look at him. He was studying her, waiting.

"I saw David."

"I know."

"Why did you do that?"

"It's not mine. All of that was the result of your work. Not mine. This house, the land here—I paid a tax bill on it a long, long time ago. That was it."

"That was _your_ inheritance."

He leaned his head back against the couch. "And what would I have done with it? Wasted it? I can't own part of this, Amanda. I didn't earn it and don't deserve it."

"I should have figured you'd find a way out."

"What?"

"It'll be easier to leave when you get ready to leave, won't it?"

"What are you talking about?"

When she didn't reply, he turned and put his hands around her shoulders. "Amanda? I can't even begin to guess what you're thinking. Clue me in."

She wanted to shrug away from his touch but it was too warm, and she needed it. "You understand the concept of a square peg in a round hole or is it the other way around? I can't remember."

"What?"

"You fit here, but you don't fit. I know . . ." she sighed. "Why would you turn away from something that is yours?"

"Oh, I get it." He released her shoulders. "You think I'm leaving. The next little Sam shows up and I'm outta here. Right? Not going to happen, Mandy. Not happening."

"Can you say that for sure?"

He looked at her and shook his head. "There are no sure things, Amanda. You and our baby could have died in that accident. Or I could have anytime in the last couple of decades. There are no certainties in life."'

"Promises?"

"Yeah, there are promises. But sometimes people break them. You know that."

"I do. I know that."

And with that she got up and left the living room and went into the bedroom to lie down.

The electricity snapped back on, and lights that had been lit before the outage were bright once more.

Sam, however, was completely in the dark.

#

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David wasn't disappointed when Sam arrived the next morning.

"I thought you were supposed to explain it to her so she would understand," he said, unable to hide the angry undertone.

"I did. I told her you believed it was her work that made the company as prosperous as it is, that you thought Sam or your future children would be better off having the money from the trust, or that she would, and that your altruistic ideas were something she should be honored by."

"Your sarcasm is noted and not appreciated."

Sam slouched in the chair across from David's desk, one booted ankle on top of the other knee, his hands folded flat against his stomach that was still a little queasy. There was something wrong with him. His wife no longer suffered morning sickness; he did. It was a little after 8 and he wasn't that solid. Being irritated, though, was a calming influence on clenching stomach muscles.

"If you recall, I advised you against this."

"Why?"

David smiled. "Finally. An important question."

He used the joystick on his electric wheelchair to move it away from his desk before opening a drawer and removing several fashion magazines.

He looked at the cover of each magazine before he pushed the small stack across the desk to Sam.

When Sam picked them up, at first, he was puzzled.

It wasn't like the man was keeping a stack of old Playboys. These were fashion magazines. Then, he looked at the covers, one at a time, trying to decipher David's intention when he suddenly realized he was looking at Dee Pence. David's wife.

So that was why she seemed so familiar. Hers was an iconic face. Through the years heavy straight black hair turned pure silver, but her beauty remained.

"I'm remembering a really big billboard of just her face in New York. A perfume ad, I think," Sam said slowly. "She's the mysterious D." He glanced over at David quickly. "I've been in a lot of waiting rooms in the last year."

"She uses D, the letter, because her name is DeeDee. When we were in law school she shortened it to Dee, then when she started modeling, she shortened it again to just the letter."

"Not following here, David."

"Personal story about what makes us different from women." David pointed to the magazine on top. In this image, Dee was pregnant, her body displayed from the side, the curve of her chin visible, the curtain of hair hiding most of her face, her hand strategically placed over a breast. "She was pregnant, and I wouldn't marry her because I told her she deserved a whole man."

"I don't—"

"That was her second pregnancy. Our oldest son was four by then."

Sam sat back and listened.

"We met in law school, but I got drafted, so you know what happened then. Surely you've read up."

"Where did you go?"

"After training, Quang Tri. Northern most artillery base then, but it went NVA quickly. Went into Laos, then back, and that's where I got this souvenir," he indicated the burned portion of his face and his missing limb. "After I got sent stateside, my best friend came looking for me, and she brought along a son I didn't know I had. Long story short, I finally got it together, moved back here, in with my parents, and finished law school. Dee wouldn't go away, and she didn't tell me she was modeling. I was oblivious. Fashion mags didn't hit my reading list those days. She asked me to marry her and I said no. I wasn't going to saddle her for the rest of her life with this. She got pregnant again. Pretty sure that wasn't an accident. We had lots of arguments. This magazine cover was her last proposal. The point is, she wanted something from me that I didn't think I could give her, but we've been married almost 40 years now and we have four sons."

Sam held up his hands. "That's a great story, David. I'm happy for you and Dee, but I'm not following this."

"Dee wanted something from me and I didn't think it was possible. Amanda wants something from you, and I can't know what it is. You are the only person who can and does. So if you value that woman the way I think you do, you'll figure it out."

Sam was frustrated and it came out easily when he spoke. "What in the hell does that have to do with restructuring CrossAxe?"

"She gave you a gift. You rejected it."

"I can't . . . take. . ."

"You rejected her."

He sat back in the chair with a thump. "Oh."

"More than once."

Sam looked away then. "I got it the first time."

"The only thing I know for sure is that whatever you need to do doesn't have a thing to do with the assets of CrossAxe."

Sam was under water again, and it was impossible to breathe.

#

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"So, I need to make a couple of changes," Sam told Michael.

"They charge for changes."

"It's okay; it's just money, Mike. I might have made an arrangement to work here, out of Sheldon's place."

"I'll find out the cost and let you know."

"Yeah."

"It'll take couple of weeks before they go up. You know that, right?"

"I do. When are you coming to see Sheldon?"

Michael told him, and then he asked a favor. "Do you have space? Can we stay with you? Fiona would really like to get to know Amanda. But I know things are different—"

"We'd love that," Sam said, crossing his fingers.

Crossing his fingers was about all he could do these days.

#

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#

"Look, Michael. Oh, no," Fiona laughed. "Pull over."

"We need to take a picture of this and send it to Maddie and Jesse and Dani and Nate and Ruthie," she said between giggles.

Michael turned into an abandoned discount store parking lot and stopped and looked up.

It was magnificent. It was bold. You couldn't miss it.

It was a 14 by 48 foot board, standard huge. The background was neon yellow. The type was black. Even a person with compromised vision would be able to see the words. _Sam LOVES Amanda._

"I wonder what he did?" Fiona asked.

"Or didn't do."

She laughed at that. "Yes."

Fiona got back in the car to check on their son who was soundly napping in his car seat in the back seat.

This trip north to see Sam and Amanda and spend time talking with Sheldon Dunham had been stuffed full of normal. The everyday life for most people. Since Michael Gabriel had arrived, it had become something she longed for, and this trip was another step in the direction of All Things Normal in the Westen World.

She'd been looking at an atlas during their trip and had found a town in Illinois by that name. "Maybe we should visit there, Michael. If we're looking for normal, that might be a good starting place."

He didn't think it was amusing the third time she suggested it.

That could have been because they both were finding North Carolina was a compelling place to be. The closer they came to where Sam lived, the closer the Blue Ridge Mountains came to their field of vision, the more Fiona experienced a sense of the ancient, very different but very similar to the rugged northwestern part of Ireland where she'd spent time as a child visiting her father's aunt.

"This is a beautiful place," she said, then touched Michael's arm. "You need to pull over again. There's another one."

It was the same size as the last one, only this one had a neon green background with black letters.

_Amanda, I'm Sorry_

Fiona got out and took another photo and sent back to her Miami family. "This is too fun," she said as she climbed back in the car and watched as van emblazoned with a TV channel stopped and started unloading equipment in front of the sign in the background.

"Time to go," Michael said.

As she returned to the passenger seat she knew this wasn't nearly the surprise to Michael as it was to her.

"Are there any more of those?" she asked.

He looked away from the winding road quickly. "What?"

"Signs? The big signs. Any more messages Sam has for Amanda?"

He couldn't help himself. He grinned. "Yeah."

"Do they say the same thing?"

Michael shook his head. "No. One says I Love You and the other says Please Forgive Me."

She frowned. "Wow. What a statement. How did you . . . ?"

"I'm just helping Chuck Findley."

"What?" she laughed.

"Sam called six or seven weeks ago and said he needed Chuck to help him out, and so we—"

"We?"

"Me, Jesse and Barry, acting in the persona of Chuck Findley."

"It took three of you to be one Chuck?"

Michael laughed. "Yeah. He's a hard act to follow. All we did was place some ads for him. That was all, Fi. They're only going to be up for a month, but he figured that would be long enough."

"For what?"

"To fix what he broke, he said."

"Michael, this could get uncomfortable if we're supposed to be guests in their home. I don't want . . ."

"Amanda's pregnant, Fi."

"Oh. My."

"He said he doesn't want to screw this up, so that's why we—"

"Need to help him."

"No, we need to stay out of his way, Fi. He can handle this."

"Okay, but—if—"

"No."

She sighed. "Okay."

It was the mailbox with the bold letters AXE on the side, sitting on crossed axe handles that indicated this was the right place. Michael pulled into the driveway just as a small, very pregnant woman came out the front door and was followed by the tall, lanky son he'd met several months earlier.

"That's Sam. His son," Michael said.

When they spotted their guests, their demeanors changed and they smiled welcome. Sam waved.

"Oh, my," Fiona said. "That _is_ his son, isn't he? I hope Gabe takes after you the same way."

When Michael's phone rang, he flipped it open. "Sam. We just got here. Oh? Sure. We'll see you later then."

#

#

#

Amanda had a landline into the house; it had the same number it had always had, and the answering machine on that line was now completely full. She wasn't about to erase any messages because that meant more would arrive. That's what happened yesterday.

And they were all the same, all asking the same question.

Was she the Amanda from the signs?

She finally realized the fastest way to resolve that problem was to just unplug the phone from the jack, so she did.

When her cell phone rang, she looked at the screen. Another number she didn't recognize. This was beyond annoying.

"Sam Axe, I am going to kill you," she muttered in disgust as she stared at her phone.

"What'd he do now?" Sam wondered.

Amanda turned and watched as her son came through the back door with a picnic basket full of things Zoe had provided. Two casseroles, two pies. Enough for two days of guests.

Sam had cleaned the loft room and changed bedding and had retrieved the portable crib from Zoe so his friends could stay with them. Of course that meant he'd be returning to their bedroom. She wasn't unhappy about that, not really, but she was still highly annoyed with him.

The signs, however, were wonderful and sent a burst of joy straight to her heart even if she was horrified by them. She planned on not telling him that for a while, though.

_Sam LOVES Amanda_

_Amanda, I'm sorry_

_Please Forgive Me_

The signs were obnoxious. Loud. Very loud.

He said he wasn't responsible. And she didn't believe him, so she'd called the outdoor advertising company and learned he was right. Someone by the name of Chuck Findley who lived in Pennsylvania purchased the advertising. The payment came from a Pennsylvania bank. It really didn't make any sense.

There could be another Amanda, he said.

There were other men named Sam.

_I love you_ was something people said to other people all the time.

So was _Please Forgive Me_.

For an under the radar, low profile woman who cherished her privacy and had never, never, never yearned to be in a spotlight, it was awful.

Awful.

So she asked Zoe to make sure to take pictures of all of them.

Amanda turned to look at her son, her son so much like his father in appearance that it had always affected her heart. "It's those signs," she told him. "Do you know how many people call here? And now they found my cell phone number!"

"Mom, you can change the number."

"I do not want to change my number. Oh, that reminds me. I need to take the letters off the mailbox."

"Mom, don't do this," Sam said with a sigh.

"Why'd he do that? Put those signs up?" she wondered, feeling quite sniffly.

"Is it really a bad thing?"

"Yes. No. Oh, I don't know. But I am taking those darned letters off the mailbox." She started out the front door and Sam was on her heels but stopped when she realized their guests had arrived.

"Put on your happy face, Mom," Sam advised as he did the same. "You've got company. I'm calling Dad."

#

#

#

Night at this elevation without the distraction of light from human activity brought the stars closer and made them brighter.

It had been a long time since Fiona had seen stars like this.

She'd been sitting on the front porch, wrapped in a warm jacket Amanda had loaned her, enjoying the quiet and the night noises, her hands cupped around a mug of perfectly brewed hot tea. Amanda joined her.

Inside, Michael and Sam were talking softly as Michael sat and rocked his son to sleep.

"If I lived here, I don't think I would want to leave," Fiona told her when she took the rocking chair next to her. "This feels . . . old, if that makes sense."

"It does. This whole range is about 400 million years old. The geologists who study this have found a lot of interesting things about it. When the large plates that created land masses to form the earth moved, these mountains were created. Some say they're the backbone of a much older range but I think they're talking about the same thing."

"In daylight, they really do look blue."

"They do. It's a tourist attraction, but not so much in this area."

The front door opened and Sam let Diesel out. "He doesn't think you should be out there by yourselves."

Diesel nudged Amanda's arm then went down the steps.

"He's on patrol," she explained.

"He's very large, and he seems to like Sam."

Amanda laughed. "He adopted him. I'm not sure Sam thinks it's a good thing some times."

They were silent a few moments before Amanda raised the question. She'd been watching Sam interact with the couple since they arrived and it struck her that if Michael was Sam's brother, Fiona was his sister.

Diesel returned and thumped his large body in front of them, lying down, but alert, watching and listening to the night.

"I was wondering," Amanda said, "how long you've known Sam."

"Oh, gosh, let me think back. Ahmm, the first time I met him was in Ireland, and I kept running into him in many of the same places Michael was working, but I've only really gotten to know him well in the last six years. All three of us sort of landed in Miami. We ended up working together and then last year, Michael got hurt. We weren't sure we were going to get him back, but Sam committed himself to that, and here we are. I'm forever grateful to him for his help. He's like a brother to us."

Sam hadn't revealed this much, Fiona had, even with the gaping holes lacking explanation. She'd only cracked the door open a bit. She realized there were so many things she didn't know about her husband, things she might never know. Navigating her husband's past life was going to take time, if he allowed it.

Sam opened the door and stepped out.

"Hey, Fi. Mike's took the kid up to bed. We'll let you two use the bath first and then we'll go to bed. Okay by you?"

Twenty minutes later, Fiona lay in Michael's arms looking out the window at the end of the loft. Gabe was sleeping in the portable crib next to them. "Michael, I really, really like it here."

"I know."

"If they offer you—"

"We'll talk about it. I promise."

Below them on the ground floor, Sam joined Amanda who had already turned off the bedroom light. He didn't want to talk about anything. Not their disagreement, not signs, nothing. She'd turned away from him, so if he understood that correctly, neither did she.

He closed the distance between them and kissed her bare shoulder, then slid his hand to where she protected their child. As soon as he spread his hand across her, the movement ceased.

"I love you, Amada."

She sighed. "I know."

She turned over then moved to put her head on his shoulder so she could sleep in his arms.

It was almost perfect.

Almost.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

#

#

#

The house faced west not east, which meant frost edged the shaded front porch while sunlight poured into the morning bright kitchen where the Mike, Fi and their sweet boy child were having breakfast with Amanda.

Sam excused himself to partake of the therapeutic effect of the bracing morning chill. Unfortunately, Michael got up and followed him with a cup of coffee. He took the rocking chair next to Sam and rocked.

The combination of the movement and the aroma of coffee made Sam feel nauseous.

Michael stopped rocking when he caught the expression on Sam's face.

Sam closed his eyes, leaned his head back in the chair and sat very, very still.

For a few long, silent moments all was calm.

"Do you have soda crackers?" Michael wondered.

"Why?"

"It's called Couvade Syndrome. You need . . ."

Sam reached for the package he'd stuck in his shirt pocket and opened it. "I'm acquainted."

Michael watched him for a moment before speaking. "Jesse had it."

"Jess?"

"Yeah. He doesn't like to talk about it." Michael put his hand on top of the cup to block the aroma of the coffee.

Sam noticed the gesture with appreciation. "Thanks."

"Fi's theory is only men who are strongly connected to their wives get it."

"You didn't."

"I didn't?"

Sam turned his head slowly to look at his friend. "Mike, you couldn't remember you were married for about half Fi's pregnancy with Gabe."

"I still don't understand that," Michael said somberly. He looked across the pale grey and blue fog-filled hollows that hugged the low hills beyond the sloping yard then glanced back to Sam. "I was next to her at the top of the bed. They weren't paying attention to me, just Fi, the baby and her wild Gaelic swearing, but I felt every contraction she had with Gabe. It hurt."

"It's weird crap."

"Some men gain weight, you know, in front." Michael looked over at Sam, and both men shuddered at the same time at the thought.

"Can I drink my coffee now?"

"Yeah. I'm good," Sam said as he put the second cracker in his mouth.

#

#

#

Amanda volunteered to stay with Fiona and Michael's sweet baby boy while Fiona, Michael and Sam visited with Sheldon. They were here to investigate the work Sheldon had done to see if they might be interested in doing something similar. Sam told her they both had unique skills in intelligence work.

She had a hard time believing that. They seemed like such nice, normal people to her.

The whole spy-CIA-intelligence stuff was so far beyond her daily existence that it was as difficult to accept as the knowledge that Sheldon had led a secret life all these years without her ever suspecting. Equally difficult to believe was that he'd moved here to provide her and her small son protection because of something Sam had done as a SEAL.

Baking cakes, gardening, watching a sleeping baby—those were more her speed.

This morning, it had been fun to watch Diesel try to make up his mind if he was going with Sam or staying with her and the baby. His hesitation resolved the problem because Sam shut the door and now the dog was sitting at the end of room on the furry rug that matched his coat watching over Amanda and young Michael Gabriel.

While he was sleeping in the pendulum cradle she used for her grandchildren, Amanda planned to nap nearby on the couch. She hadn't been sleeping well lately, and it'd been her fault. That night after David had given her the Her set of documents which, had she signed them, would have severed her husband's legal status with CrossAxe, she'd locked their bedroom door. She heard him try the door and then heard him take the stairs to the loft room. It'd been a long time since she'd last cried herself to sleep, but the fact that Sam had spoken with David and had not even thought to talk to her about what he was doing hurt too much.

But last night, he was back, next to her, and finally, she could sleep after too many restless nights. The way his gentle touch could calm the active infants in her womb was so lovely, it brought tears to her eyes. She wondered if he understood how unique and special that was, or if he could have been able to do the same thing when she was pregnant with Sam.

Despite the rest she'd had last night, she was still tired, and if a pregnant woman couldn't take a nap in the middle of the morning, then when could she? Her babies were just too busy.

She blinked her eyes open with that thought. Babies.

Yes—that was the thought that troubled her. The phrase had been appearing in her conscious state more and more frequently. She knew one of them was a girl. For some reason, that thought had planted itself in her mind when she was still in the hospital after the accident. Now it was stuck there in restless dreams and whenever she found herself looking at clothing for baby girls. It didn't make sense.

It especially didn't make sense because the sonogram clearly showed only one child. A boy. She'd have to remember to ask the doctor about the unusual and increasingly strong sense of two she experienced. She glanced at Gabriel's sweet face sleeping nearby and closed her eyes with a smile.

She wondered what Sam's daughter would look like.

#

#

#

Michael and Fiona were standing in Sheldon's magnificent great room, next to the fireplace looking at the misty morning view of blue hills and valleys. With the sun hidden above a bank of clouds, it didn't take much imagination to see the horizon take on the qualities of a mystical, gently rolling sea.

Fiona was entranced by the sense of peace.

When the front door burst open, Zoe appeared and laser sighted her attention on Sam. The moment she realized her father had guests, she stopped, changed gears, and immediately clothed herself with Southern woman charm as her father made introductions.

"Fiona, Michael, this is my daughter Zoe."

She was dressed for the damp fall morning as casually as the Westens, with her heavy sweater, jeans and low heeled boots.

"I'm so pleased to meet you." Her smile was blinding white and cheerful, and her grip soft but firm as she shook hands with Michael and Fiona before she stepped back to wrap her hand around Sam's arm.

"It's good to meet you," Michael said. "I met your husband the last time I was here."

"That was a fuss, wasn't it? I'm so sorry that made your visit shorter than you'd planned."

"It just gave us a chance to come back," Michael said. "You're looking healthy. That's good."

"That's very kind of you, thank you so much. I hope you enjoy your visit here and seeing Sam and Manda, of course."

"It's beautiful here," Fiona said softly.

"It is. Now if ya'll excuse me, I beg your forgiveness but I'm stealing my father-in-law for a quick minute. I promise I'll bring him back unharmed real soon."

She graced them with another blinding smile and steered Sam out ahead of herself, out the front door and down the walk, her long ponytail bouncing in time to quick, agitated steps.

Michael and Fiona glanced at each other and grinned.

"That girl's got an agenda this morning," Sheldon commented.

From where Fiona was standing she glanced down and could see Zoe and Sam emerge from the house, as Zoe animatedly gestured and talked to Sam who appeared to be wincing.

Sheldon glanced over and shook his head. "I think that's about the signs."

"Signs?" Fi wondered, her tone innocent.

"Surely you saw one of those monstrous things on your drive up the hill. There's a large outdoor advertising board in yellow with black letters that say 'Amanda, I'm sorry'."

"It was hard to miss," Michael agreed.

"And there are several others in the area, all with similar messages. Talk about the wrong thing to do. Sam has a talent for it, especially with Amanda. I don't think Zoë will do any permanent damage."

They all watched as Zoe pointed a finger in Sam's chest and he backed up.

Sheldon shook his head. "Do you have any questions? I'll wait until Zoe leaves for the full tour."

"She doesn't know what you do?" Fiona asked.

"No. At least, I used to think she didn't, but lately, I've been wondering. After meeting Michael and Jesse several months ago my son-in-law Sam figured out they weren't interested in the consumer research I was doing, so we discussed it. He already knew some of it. He's in the National Guard. I told Amanda then. "

"I understand you've known her a long time," Michael observed.

Sheldon and Michael joined Fiona at the window to watch Zoe talk to Sam.

"We grew up together. I went away, joined the military and after my wife left us, coming back here accomplished several things, primarily an agency goal. Once I was here, though, I didn't want to leave. Even as children, Zoe and Sam were inseparable, and Amanda and I helped each other with our parenting roles. I know you are friends of Sam's, and I think that friendship would be an asset if you decide to relocate to this area. A family, especially having a small child, changes many things for intelligence operatives. It did for me."

"It does," Fiona agreed as she glanced at Michael and then looked back to where Sam and Zoe were still talking. Or, more accurately, where Zoe was talking to Sam.

She was enjoying the silent movie below, and admired the younger woman's approach to dealing with him. It was obvious he was in trouble for something, and if she was correctly interpreting Zoe's gestures, he was in a lot of trouble.

#

#

#

As they'd left the great room, Zoe had taken Sam's hand and tugged him behind her like one of her small, recalcitrant sons. Once Sam pulled the front door closed, she turned and opened her mind to share almost everything that was floating around in there with him. And none of it was happy with him.

She walked forward. He backed up.

"What are you thinking? Signs? Great big ugly signs? You know what a private person Manda is! She was barely adjusting to the pregnant grandma thing in that newspaper story. Now this. I can't believe you did that!"

"I didn't do it."

Zoe snapped back at him. "Oh, yes you did. I heard Manda learned some guy in Pittsburg by the name of Chuck Findley bought those boards. Nice to meet you Chuck. Or do you prefer Charles?"

Sam suppressed a grin, not entirely successfully.

"Manda doesn't have you figured out yet, but she will."

"Ahm, you're not . . .?

"I might. And what's this crap about you wanting out of CrossAxe? How insulting. What is your last name anyway?"

"That's not what I was trying to do."

"Oh, so you were _trying to hurt Manda? On purpose?_ Is that what you were doing?"

"No, Zoe. Look, a man doesn't take gifts like that from a woman—"

She put a finger into his chest and thumped it twice. He took another step back. "But you have. Just not here. Why?"

Sam backed away another step, frowned, stopped, and scowled at her. "Did Aman—"

She shook her head at him. "No, Manda didn't tell me a thing. You—your marriage, whatever the two of you talk about—is off limits for me and her, just like what's personal between me and Sammy is off limits for her. And that goes for you, too."

"Which doesn't stop you from poking your nose in other people's business."

"Of course not. What did you think I was going to do? You finally show up and Sammy and Manda instantly turn into crazy people. They were not themselves, and why? Because _you_ showed up. So I checked you out."

"What?"

"I figured if Manda married you, you couldn't be a real bad guy, but you left her and _then you came back 30_ _years later_. How was I to know who you are now? When two people I love stop acting like themselves because you show up, it made me curious. The next thing I hear, you're fighting with Manda, and then you're making up, and then what next? Manda's pregnant. You bet I checked you out. I'd show you the file but I shredded it already because half the personal stuff in there would have hurt her or Sammy and I would do anything not to hurt either of them."

"Personal stuff?"

"Let's see, a lot of them didn't have names but the last one did—Ilsa."

"Zoe—that's really none of . . ."

"No, it isn't which is why I shredded that damned file. It'd hurt too many people. Including you."

"When did you—"

"The day I met you. I worked for a hotel before I married Sammy. I know how to check employee credentials. And one of these days my sweet papa is going to tell me he works for the CIA, too, just like you and your friends inside the house."

"Just a matter of professional curiosity, but who did you —"

"SecuriCorp."

Sam shook his head.

"They're kind of expensive, but worth it."

"I've heard."

Zoe stuck her hands on her hips in a move reminiscent of Amanda. "You think just because I'm a mama and I'm short, that I'm short on brains. Thank God Sammy never did that."

"Hey, I didn't—"

"Oh yes you did. Sweet little cake baker wouldn't have you investigated, would she? Ha. Neither Sammy or Manda knows I did that, so I would appreciate it if you didn't feel the need to share, because I will hurt you if you do. I understand your friend Jesse works there, at least that's what Sammy told me. I thought that was an interesting coincidence."

"Wasn't it?" Sam looked heavenward for a second.

Zoe was still poking a finger at his chest. "What I want you to do is to take down those stupid signs, and do that as soon as possible. They're embarrassing Amanda."

Sam turned himself into granite, crossed his arms and stared down at her. "They're staying up for at least 30 days, and if the board isn't sold after that time, then it stays up until it's replaced by something else. I'm not debating this with you, Zoe. The signs stay up. Understand?"

His quiet, calm and firm manner took some of the wind out of her sails. She studied him for a moment. "What's your evil plan?"

"It's not evil."

She relented. "Then what are you _trying_ to do?"

"Change a perception. Does she ever talk about wearing a big invisible scarlet letter A?"

Zoe dropped her eyes from his and crossed her arms at her waist. "Oh. That."

"Yeah. It's going away. You got a better idea?"

Zoe took a deep breath and sighed. She blinked away a tear. "No," she said softly. "That'll be good." Then she blinked away another tear, then a couple more and a few more after that. "That will be really good. That was one of the reasons Sammy and I didn't talk to each other for so many years."

He spoke softly, too. "I'm sorry, Zoe. What happened back then, that was all my fault. Amanda didn't do anything wrong. I know that. The only . . . sinner in our marriage is me."

She studied his face for a long moment. "I think it's more complicated than that. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm glad you're doing this. You wouldn't believe what people have said about her. And she just ignored them."

"Is that why you're acting like Diesel this morning?"

Zoe laughed then. "Yes. Now what's this business with CrossAxe? What are you going to do about that?"

Sam shook his head. "I can't be involved. It's not mine."

She took his arm, forcing him to look down to her as she wiped away the last of her tears. "I don't know why I keep forgetting you're just a dumb newlywed. And I'm not sure which one of you is dumber, you or Manda. You're going from one extreme to the other and not an ounce of common sense between the two of you. Amanda's got baby hormones, so she gets a pass right now, but you don't. Just talk to her, okay? Talk to each other. But, you don't talk to a lawyer first even if he is a family friend, and thank God he is."

He glanced down and put his hand on hers. "So I'm clear here, I am I allowed to talk to David like a friend?"

"But not at his office," Zoe instructed. "_Not at his office._ Understand?"

"Okay. Anything else, General Axe?"

She smiled and slid her arms around his waist for a hug. "I love you, Sammy's daddy."

He returned her hug. "I love you, too, sweetie. You have a lot in common with a good friend of mine."

"Fiona."

"Yeah."

"Was she the gun runner in Ireland?"

He frowned. "I said that, didn't I? You need to get home and I need . . ." He turned around and caught the movement at the window. When he looked up he saw Sheldon, Mike and Fi watching them. "Take a bow, Zoe."

"What?"

He nudged her shoulder and she followed his gaze then waved to her father who returned the gesture.

She stopped, stood on her tiptoes and pulled Sam's cheek lower so she could kiss him. "I know you love her, now act like you do, okay?"

"That's what the signs are for."

"Thank you for telling me about that."

"You're welcome."

She laughed. "It is, too, an evil plan. But, I like it."

#

#

#

Mike and Fiona were inside Sheldon's communications center hidden inside his home office when Sam called Jesse to tell him what his darling daughter-in-law had purchased from SecuriCorp. He was hoping to learn specifics.

"It's a big company and that's not my area, Sam, but I'll find out and get back to you."

He did. Within 20 minutes. Jesse was scanning the copy of the material that had been produced, which was quite thorough, and was reading the highlights to him over the phone. It contained his military background in large enough chunks to know where he'd been in the world, a synopsis of his self-inflicted retirement hearing, and his tattered financial history. The private information included a lengthy listing of his known associations, including Jesse, and a sketchy list of female companions, the most illustrative of which was his last, the woman who had received a rather sizeable chunk of her former husband's hotel industry upon their divorce several years earlier.

As Jesse read the details, the only thing Sam was thinking was that it didn't even sound like him. It was, of course, but he hadn't fully grasped the significant change in himself since he'd returned home. And that was where he was. He was home. He couldn't leave now, and he wouldn't want to.

"Hey, man, I'm sorry. I didn't know about this, or I would have let you know."

"It's okay, Jess. Just trying to figure out how deep a hole I'm in that's all."

"Could be worse."

"True."

"Hey, Sam, just looking at some of the reference links. What's CrossAxe, Inc.?"

"It's ah," he sighed, "the family business."

"It looks like someone's running a bunch of checks on it now."

"Really? Who?"

"I can't tell from this. What's AAZA?"

"Probably my wife and daughter-in-law's business."

"Which is?"

"They call it The Cakery. They make cakes. Why?"

"I don't know, but I'll check and tell you what I find out."

"That report Zoe paid for, is she the only person entitled to it?"

"Yes."

"How about her lawyer?"

"If it's requested."

"He'll request it."

"Sam, you don't want to do that. Rethink that. Please?"

"Yeah, thanks, Jess."

#

#

#

After four days of conversations with Sheldon, the Michael and Fiona were full of information and not particularly anxious to leave North Carolina. At least, Fiona wasn't.

"Just let me enjoy wearing a sweater for a little while longer," she told Michael. "This feels like I'm home."

With a small smile, she'd left the word _home _open to Michael's interpretation.

Amanda was enjoying Fiona's sporadic company. At least she had learned a little more about what Sam had done for Michael, and understood better that what her son was doing on a larger scale, her husband had accomplished in a focused, concentrated way with Michael.

When Fiona explained when and how he had done that, Amanda's heart filled with admiration for her husband. At the same time she could ache for Fiona, who didn't know from one day to the next if the man she loved, whose child she carried, would remember her.

She could see Sam and Michael's bond was strong, and she had been glad Fiona shared this much with her. It echoed her observations about her son's relationships with his friends, men he had served with. It was another window to the world she knew so little about.

Although they had visited Sam's warehouse project, they hadn't really spent time there. When Sam announced that son Sam would be running one of his Tai Chi and lunch sessions later today, Michael indicated an interest in seeing that. That's when Sam told him he thought Nick Carnahan had planned to be there today with his brother, but he called to check that info with Sam.

Sam was surprised when his son asked to speak directly with Michael. The conversation was brief and ended with Mike agreeing to something but telling him he needed to talk to his wife first.

"Sam says you're supposed to bring the dog today," Mike told him.

"OK. What else did he want?"

"He was hoping I could bring Gabe. He said there are a couple of guys and a woman who have a disconnect with their families and can't remember or don't know what to do about their kids. He said his little girl is fussy with teething but he's bringing his sons. He was hoping I'd consider bringing Gabe. I need to talk to Fi."

#

#

#

It was Gabe's napping time, so those interested in watching his son sleep were contemplative as opposed to the men who were talking to Sam's grandsons Jacob and Noah. The boys were polite but serious and asked the kind of gentle and blunt questions children ask people with severe injuries.

After their initial questions were answered they were curious about exploring the warehouse. Michael noticed that their father and grandfather kept close watch on the boys as they talked to their new friends and explored the workout area and walked the balance beam resting on the floor.

Michael put his son's carrier on a low table and sat next to it. These overly protective feelings about his son had doubled since his birth, and he'd promised Fiona he would not separate himself from Gabe while they were there.

Earlier, when he called, Sam's son explained there were several men and one woman who were dealing with the disconnection with their children and spouses. He hoped, by taking his own children there and having an infant there as well would soften some of the steel these people were using to keep themselves emotionally safe, but in reality was keeping them far from their families who loved them.

He could not have known his request was tailor-made to hit every one of Michael's leftover pockets of guilt after his recovery from Acute Stress Disorder. He couldn't look at Fi sometime without remembering that not too many months ago he couldn't remember her. Perhaps enough time hadn't passed yet, to recover from the normal guilt of that. He understood it really wasn't guilt, but the emotion had settled heavily on him and had yet to dissipate.

When Carnahan approached, Michael grinned. It was good to see another friend. Nick introduced his brother Jack to Michael who was quietly proud to show them his son. While Nick congratulated him, his brother, however, looked at the sleeping child and turned around and left. He moved his wheelchair over to the edge of the exercise area and sat there, as far away as he could be from the baby.

Nick went to speak to him but was waved away. That's when Diesel wandered over and sat beside him and just looked at him. A few minutes later, Diesel had his chin in Jack's lap and was being petted.

By the time the Carnahan brothers left, though, Michael noticed Jack kept looking in the direction of Gabe's car seat. He didn't know if he had a child, but he could see it had been an affecting experience for him to see Gabe.

Sam was sitting next to Michael with his sons on his knees; both boys were tired after an afternoon of running around the big playhouse as they called it.

"Hey, Dad," Sam called softly. "Take Noah before he hits the floor."

Sam rescued his sleepy grandson from his father's arms and sat in a chair across from Mike who was holding Gabe. The boy had awakened hungry and he'd fed him and changed his diapers, much to the interest of several men and one woman there. And after cooing and giggling for his small group of admirers, he was sleepy now and Mike was holding him.

Jacob turned his head against his father's shoulder and patted his chest with one small hand.

"I want to thank you and your wife for letting the baby come," Sam told Michael. "I can see by watching what happened today, that I probably need to do this every few weeks. I think there are several people here besides Jack Carnahan who need this."

His father agreed. "Diesel, too, but I'm not surprised how much having a dog around meant to these guys."

"It worked the same way in Iraq," Sam said.

"Kids and dogs. Hard to beat the combination," Michael said. "I bet it's easier having dog here than in the city."

"Not according to my wife," Sam laughed. "Zoe makes the furball stay on the porch when he visits."

Sam glanced at his friend and wondered if Sheldon had been a successful recruiter.

Or if his son had been.

#

#

#

"Oh, this is my kind of place," Fiona said as she followed Amanda through the back door into the Rosey Posey Tosey Spa.

They had already been to The Cakery, and had exited one business back door to enter another.

"Mine, too." Amanda peeked inside. "Oh, good, all the seats up front are filled. I like these back here best."

Rosalee spotted them and waved. "Take a seat, ladies. I'll be there is a sec."

One of her tech school student assistants was quick to make sure their foot spas were sanitized, running and the water was temperature adjusted. She measured the mineral salts into the spas and left them. Both Amanda and Fiona turned off the massage feature of the chair.

Amanda looked over to Fiona when she did that. "You don't like the massage —"

"Oh, I do, but I can't." She glanced at Amanda, paused, and volunteered precious information. "If I am . . . I don't want to take a chance."

"That's sensible."

"I don't want to complicate our marriage, but it might be inevitable," Fiona said softly.

"I understand," Amanda said quietly, and cautiously volunteered her own secret to the woman she knew had become her husband's sister. "I haven't told Sam we're having twins yet. I just found out. One of them is completely hidden by the other and their heartbeats are in sync. The doctor ran a couple of blood tests that show we're having twins. I think he's going to freak out."

Fiona smiled with commiseration. "You do understand. I didn't think we'd be ready to do this again . . . this soon."

"We can stop at a drug store before we go home, if you'd like."

"I know, but I'm enjoying wondering about it, if that makes sense."

Amanda smiled. "It makes perfect sense."

She watched as Dee walked through the front door and talk to Rosalee who pointed her to the back of the salon. She smiled and walked back, losing her coat to a standing coat tree along the way.

Amanda provided introductions, and a few minutes later they were soaking their feet in the mechanically swirling water of warm footbaths.

Rosalee stopped and looked at all three of them. "I'm just one person so who wants my new kids and who doesn't?"

"I'll take a new kid," Fiona volunteered.

"Me, too," Amanda said.

"Cool, so I'll start with Dee and as soon as the girls finish, they'll be back. They're tech students, so this is a practicum."

Rosalee sat down on the low stool in front of Dee but looked at Amanda. "Okay, what'd the doc say?"

"You were right."

"I knew it. That's why you've been so tired." Rosalee said, smiling.

"Peter and Mark nearly wore me out before they were born," Dee said. "It felt like I was carrying an octopus, and they didn't slow down after they were born. They exhausted me."

"Yeah, but the older two probably had something to do with that," Amanda said.

"Why we're talking so quietly?" Fiona wondered.

"Because whatever we say will be everywhere within minutes if we don't," Amanda explained. "This is part of small town life. Lots of ears that listen."

"No, it's life everywhere," Fiona said.

"You should know you're hanging around with the three most notorious women in town," Dee said.

"What makes you notorious?" Fiona wondered.

"It's like this," Rosalee explained. "Manda over there is the adulterer even though she never did. Dee was the crazy woman begging the cripple to marry her, and I was married to the rat who ran off with the minister's wife. Between the three of us, we've kept tongues wagging in this town for decades. And one of us still is."

Amanda groaned. "Those damned signs."

"I like them. Some men wear their hearts on their sleeves or get a tattoo. Yours puts his on billboards," Dee said.

"It's going to ruin your rep as a bad girl," Rosalee laughed.

"I really hate the gossip . . . crap," Amanda said.

Fiona smiled. "There's a Sam word. I can't believe gossip that old lasts, though those big signs are hard to miss."

"It's just small town stuff, so that's why gossip hangs on. David and I have been married long enough now that not many people remember how we started."

Rosalee agreed. "And almost everyone has forgotten about my ex except my kids."

"I was in prison last year," Fiona volunteered. "I wonder what they'd say about that?"

All three women turned and looked at her. "It's kind of hard to explain," Fiona said.

Dee smiled her famous half smile. "You can't be that bad. You're not there now."

The door wooshed open and Rosalee looked over her shoulder to see who had arrived. "Uh oh."

He walked straight to the back of the shop, put his hands on either arm of the chair Amanda was sitting in and bent close. "Where's your phone?"

"In my purse."

He stood up and held out his hand, palm up. "This is an annoying habit, Amanda. And it's dangerous."

She found the phone and put it in his hand with a sigh. Sam turned it on, adjusted the sound volume and handed it back to her about the same time it chimed with an incoming call.

"Zoe's been trying to reach you," he explained.

Amanda answered her phone and Sam leaned down and kissed her forehead then turned back but not before acknowledging the women next to Amanda with a nod. "Rosy. Dee. Fiona." Then he left.

A shop full of women had followed his movements in, watched while he talked to Amanda and kissed her, and then followed him as he left.

Fiona turned to Dee and Rosalee. "Does he ever . . . notice all the other . . . women . . . here?"

Rosalee smiled. "Nope. The first time he was here I thought Mrs. Hardesty was going to have a heart attack. Men don't really come in here."

"He never notices all these women watching him?" Fiona wondered.

Dee smiled. "No, he doesn't."

"No little charming flirtations on his way in or out?"

Rosalee laughed then. "Nope. Tunnel vision. How long have you known him?"

Fiona's amazement was written on her face. "On and off about twenty years, but I've never seen that. Ever."

"You should have been there the night he took her truck away from her. That was fun," Dee said.

"And then the next day she was in that horrible accident. That wasn't fun. Thank God she was in the new one or she'd be dead." Rosalee glanced over to Amanda.

"What horrible accident?" Fi asked.

"Didn't you see the red truck on the big platform at the car dealer when you drove into town?" Dee asked Fiona.

"Yes. Was that Amanda's?"

"What are you guys talking about?" Amanda ended her call and rejoined their conversation.

"Your accident. Sam taking away your old truck."

"I'm getting it back. It's still my truck, and I'm still mad at him for doing that. Sam has it locked up his warehouse and he won't return my spare key, that rotten kid."

"Why does Sam have a warehouse?" Fiona wondered.

"Son Sam, not husband Sam," Rosalee explained. "You need to think about a couple of different names in your family besides Sam and Amanda, you know?"

"There's another Amanda?" Fiona wondered.

"Our granddaughter. Zoe and Sam's little girl."

"What did Zoe want?" Dee asked.

"I need to pick up the video of our telescoping cake. She thinks someone might be suing us."

"Really?" Dee asked.

"Why?"

"I have no idea."

Dee smiled. "I get this one then. This is my area."

Fiona had been looking at Dee, and suddenly recognized her. "You're . . . D. The model."

"I am. But that's not my fun job. I'm also one of Amanda's attorneys."

"One of?" Fiona asked.

"My husband handles CrossAxe, Inc. I assist."

"What is that?" Fiona wondered, glancing at Amanda. "Besides your mailbox."

At that moment Rosalee's interns appeared with their manicure/pedicure kits in hand and the conversation changed from anything personal to the known details of Amanda's accident.

By the time Fiona left the spa, she found herself looking at Amanda Axe with a new level of interest. By the time they returned back to the Axe homestead, she had a new level of respect for her. She was kind, gentle, sweet and loving. She clearly loved Sam. And now that she'd seen her cake bakery shop and learned she was a skilled business person. There had to be a reason why she retained two attorneys.

#

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#

It was Fiona who followed Sam to the front porch, not Michael. He and Amanda were busy coaxing Gabe into eating his breakfast and laughing at his baby giggles.

"Oh, let me get my phone! I need to record this," Amanda said.

Fiona had handed the breakfast duties to Michael, and Amanda was the backup entertainment. When Sam appeared, it was apparent the smell of food was affecting his stability so he excused himself to the front porch.

"Do you have soda crackers?" Fiona wondered.

"He probably has them in his pocket," Amanda told her. "I thought maybe after it went away for me, it would for him, but—no."

"Poor guy," Fiona said as she poured herself a cup of tea and proceeded to murder it with sugar and cream. At least that's what Michael had been calling it lately.

"That's still disgusting, Fi," he said. Gabe chose that moment to giggle loudly. "And even Gabe knows it's disgusting, don't you, big guy?"

"You used to drink it that way."

"It was part of a cover ID."

"A cover ID?" Amanda asked.

"Sam didn't tell you anything, did he?" Fiona said.

"About?"

"Cover IDs. Go ahead, McBride. Tell her." Fiona came over and kissed her sweet child on his head, then kissed Michael before she left to see Sam.

"Just go easy on him, Fi," Michael warned.

"I didn't pick on you or Jesse, did I?"

Amanda glanced up to Fiona. "Does every man you know have Couvades?"

"Just the ones who really love their wives."

The last comment Fiona heard as she stepped onto the porch was Amanda asking Michael why he'd told her to go easy on Sam. She smiled, then closed the door behind her and held her cup of tea in both hands.

It was another lovely blue fog morning. Quiet and peaceful. Sounds were muted by the thick misty blanket, and the color of Sam's complexion mirrored the pale grey that surrounded the house and hid hills.

"Do you need another cracker?" she asked.

If looks could kill, the one he sent her direction was lethal. "No. I'm fine."

"Jesse had it. Michael had it. It doesn't surprise me that you do, too."

"It's supposed to be rare."

"Oh."

She sat and rocked at bit.

"Fi, would you mind?"

He'd closed his eyes and was sitting very still.

"Sorry."

She ceased moving and sipped her tea quietly. Fifteen minutes later he glanced over to her.

"What's on your mind?"

"Amanda."

"Why?"

"I'm curious."

"That can be fatal."

"Oooh, grumpy. Aren't you better yet?"'

"No."

She sat there quietly, waiting. A few minutes later, Sam straightened up and seemed to shake off the last remnant of nausea. "What do you want, Fi?"

"I don't want a thing, but you do. Well, that's not true. I'd like to move here, but unless it's right for Michael and works for both of us, it won't work. Which is what your problem is."

"I have a problem?"

"Oh, yeah. Big one. Unless you change something, your marriage isn't going to work and I think you want it to."

"You're an expert?"

"On you? And women? Yeah. I am."

"A couple of days ago I was lectured by my daughter-in-law. I'm full up on advice."

"I liked Zoe." She finished her tea and held the empty cup in her lap. "So there we were, sitting in a car, watching for someone doing something and you wanted me to help you figure out how to tell a woman you couldn't marry her because you were already married. Remember? She kind of looked like Amanda, only Amanda's smaller and prettier and . . . she's pregnant. I told you to be honest, and you were and then you got mad at me. Remember?"

Sam took a quick glance over his shoulder to the house. He could see Amanda and Michael in the kitchen, talking, with Gabe between them in a high chair.

Sam looked back to Fi. "So?"

Fi smiled. "You haven't told her about anything, have you? You just left for 30 years and now you're back and you don't trust her enough to tell her what you've been doing."

"That's not . . . entirely true." Sam looked away from her then.

"But is it mostly true?" She had to grin.

"Some of it's still class—"

"You can tell her what you did without breaking a single rule. She opened the door and let you in, didn't she?"

Sam frowned and didn't say a word.

"It's your turn. You've got a few months before . . .you're parents again. Michael and I need to go back to Miami, so you'll have plenty of time alone to talk."

She got up from the rocking chair and stepped over until she stood directly in front of him. "It's the least you can do for the woman you love, Sam."

Then she kissed his cheek and returned to the warmth of the house to Michael and Gabe and Amanda who were all laughing about something.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

#

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#

The morning fog had lifted by the time Michael and Fiona thanked Amanda and Sam for their hospitality, said their good-byes and drove down the hill, past the axe handle-supported mailbox and down to the highway that would take them back to Miami.

Neither couple had expected the parting to create such a sense of loss. Amanda could see Sam's faintly melancholy expression, even as he tried to hide it.

"It's always hard to say good-bye to friends," she offered after they left, as she smoothed her hand over his before she turned and walked back to the house.

A moment later she felt his arm circle her shoulders and his lips on her forehead. "They belong there, and we belong here," he said with a smile.

She stopped and placed a hand on his check then kissed him there. "If you say that often enough, you'll believe it," she said softly as she continued into the house by herself. She couldn't see the question her comment raised in his eyes.

For Michael and Fiona, leaving North Carolina was complicated by the knowledge that, as much as they loved Sam and enjoyed getting to know Amanda, their family, their child's family—his grandmother, uncle, aunt and cousin, as well as Jesse and Dani who, like Sam, had become family—resided in Miami. And they did, too.

It had been a painful lesson in Michael's life, but it was something he'd finally learned: he needed his family as they needed him.

He'd learned one set of lessons as a kid, growing up with an abusive father. He didn't know there was a corollary lesson until he met Fiona.

Loving her was simple if he kept his emotions locked inside, secreted away from her, but they kept escaping and she kept finding them and returning them.

It had taken a day of watching Sam and Amanda together for Michael to realize his friend was making the same journey. As they got to know Amanda better, Michael realized she and Fiona had a lot in common, even if, at first, they seemed as different as night and day.

As usual, wordless male communication was precise. Each man understood and regretted the distance these new phases of their lives put between them. Neither of their lives had a reverse gear. Their friendship would endure, but they each needed their families.

The night before they left, Michael and Sam talked.

After their evening meal, Fiona bathed Gabe, the sticky mess-maker, while Amanda stayed to watch him splashing in the tub. Michael and Sam adjourned to the porch and the rocking chairs. A bright, full moon illuminated shadows to reveal deer and an occasional rabbit or raccoon. Diesel lay between them, alert, watching, standing guard, ready to protect them.

Michael said what Sam had been thinking. "I don't think I'm a good match for Sheldon's job. I don't know why Raines suggested it."

"I don't know what he had in mind, either. How's his wife, by the way? Did she survive that last new drug treatment?" Sam wondered.

"She must have, because we saw them in Miami before we came and she looked good, healthy. You'll have to ask Fi for details. I've still got some . . . memory loss."

"Who identified that?"

"Fi. She tells me it's from when I left the hospital until a couple of weeks before I remembered her. Nate thinks it's funny I can remember you but not him. Father Hector thinks it's normal, and it'll come back, that's it's just part of the . . . recovery process from the disorder. I meant to tell you that . . . what your son is doing here for the guys in his unit, that's so . . . he's an amazing guy, Sam."

"His mom did a real good job."

"Does he know what you did for me?"

"A little, yeah."

After a few moments of silence, Michael stated the obvious. "You have another chance now, with him and your new son."

"I don't want to screw it up."

"That's why we're not moving here."

"I figured as much, Mikey."

"Fi likes it here."

"Aw, she'll be fine. If she has a choice between scenery or you, you win every time."

"Not getting in your way here, Sam, but Amanda . . . seems a lot like Fi."

Sam had nothing more to say.

He was grateful Mike wasn't giving advice; he was making an observation. No matter where he turned lately, everyone seemed to have a word or two or three for him. Directly or obliquely. All relating to his marriage to Amanda.

When they retired for the night, and Sam felt Amanda fall asleep his arms again he had to wonder why he was getting so much advice lately. The outdoor advertising signs had been up long enough now that people seemed to have figured out why he'd done that.

Was he really screwing up that much? Or was it because Amanda was looking more and more pregnant? As she changed, the more the advice arrived. In fact, the only member of his family who hadn't given him their two cents was Sam and Zoe's baby girl, possibly because the sweet child couldn't say a word yet. On the other hand, her brothers could.

Jacob and Noah kept asking him why Gramma was having a baby, much to his son's silent amusement.

Noah clarified it for him. "Mommy says it's vewry comfoozing, Grampa."

"That it is, Noah," Sam had to agree.

He noticed, too, that Diesel was choosing to sit next to Amanda when he had the chance. That worried him since Sheldon told him the dog sought out the person most in need.

"I wish we could have dogs at the apartment," Fiona told Amanda as they were leaving. "Because I'd steal him."

"It only takes bacon to lead him astray," Amanda said. "At least that's what Sam says."

"You know, I'm really going to miss seeing this in the mornings. It's strange, but it feels like I've been here before," Fiona told Amanda as they said their good-byes.

"Your ancestors may have been," she said. "I've seen continental drift models that show this part of the world and Ireland and the British Isles was once one giant land mass before it broke apart. Maybe that's why there are so many Scots and Irish families here. All these rocks must look like home because it once was."

Amanda and Fiona's farewells to each other embodied heartfelt wishes for happiness in ways their husbands had yet to understand.

They had only traveled about an hour away from the Axe residence when Michael glanced over to see Fiona watching the hazy blue horizon with a wistful expression.

"We'll come back, Fi. We will."

She reached across the console and slid her hand along his thigh to his knee; her touch was soft.

"I love it there, Michael, but before you start complicating things by doing what you think I want, I know that job is not suited to you."

He glanced over at her again.

"It's perfect for Sam. You should tell Raines and Sheldon, and I still don't understand why Sheldon is retiring. They should be a team." She shrugged. "I know whatever you end up doing next, it needs to fit you and us. Our family is in Miami. My life is with you and Gabriel, but there's your mom, too, and now that you and Nate are so much stronger and closer, I don't want you to leave Miami because I like old blue mountains that remind me of Ireland."

Like all the other gifts she had given him, Michael found himself speechless. A few minutes later he pulled off the road into a rest area, a place where travelers could stretch their legs, and let their brakes cool, but that wasn't why he stopped. He couldn't afford to be emotionally distracted while driving; he needed a few minutes. They both heard Gabe begin to fuss in his car seat behind them, but just before Fiona opened her door to get out to tend to him, he stopped her with a gentle touch.

"Thank you for telling me that, Fi."

She reached across the console and put her hand on his cheek. "What happens next needs to be right for all of us. Agreed?"

They shared a kiss and then one more before Gabe loudly made his presence known. He was wet and irritable. It wasn't long before Fiona figured out why; he was getting another tooth.

"I'll sit back here with him, or you can," Fi suggested. "He's not a bit sleepy and it's not time to eat."

"I think he needs all your attention while he can get it," Michael said.

"What do you mean?"

He asked her what had been on his mind since last night. "Will you go to the doctor when we get back to Miami?"

She smiled. "I should have guessed it'd be hard to keep a secret from you. How do you know?"

"Amanda."

"She told you?" Fi asked, disbelief on her face.

He shook his head. "No. It's that thing you do, like now." He glanced down to where her hand was lightly pressed against her abdomen. "Last night I noticed you and Amanda were both doing the same thing, only she had two hands there. The last time I saw that, we were waiting for Gabe."

Fiona smiled. "Amanda needs two hands. She just found out they're having twins. It happens with older moms. It could happen to us, too."

"Sam doesn't know yet."

Fiona laughed. "No, but he will soon."

"Twins." Michael smiled, then he chuckled. "Twins."

#

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#

Sam was thoroughly enjoying his drive across the Dare Bridge. There was nothing like driving on an elevated road with water all around. It almost made him think of Florida.

Except he liked it here more.

Amanda had given him the directions to the house and had shown him the map, and then she'd adjusted the comfortable leather passenger seat to tilt back a little, rested her hands on either side of her baby belly, and slowly nodded off. She'd been asleep for most of their trip to the Outer Banks.

It wasn't a terribly long trip, just a day's travel, all downhill. They'd stopped several times as she needed the rest areas, and around two, they stopped to have the picnic lunch she'd packed. But mostly, she slept.

He enjoyed glancing over to see her, soft womanly woman, pregnant with his child, sweetly curved, peaceful in her rest, his very own madonna. He couldn't think of anything more lovely than to watch her like this.

And then it struck him. He was happy.

Completely happy.

It had been so long ago since he'd felt this way, he'd almost forgotten what it was like. And then he remembered the last time he'd felt this; he'd been with Amanda then, too.

Whoa. Why had he forgotten that?

He was stopped in traffic, waiting for the light to change so he could move forward.

That was something he was going to have to think about. Later.

When a horn behind him sounded he snapped out of his daze and moved ahead and took another trip with an old memory.

The last time he'd been to this area, he'd been a kid. He was amazed by all the new construction on the Outer Banks that had occurred since then; it was hard to recognize some of the things he remembered.

After he crossed the Sound, he headed north past Nags Head and Kill Devil Hills then Kitty Hawk, the scene of earth and sky changing events a century earlier, then a little farther to Duck. Part of him wanted to be a child again and go back to look at where the Wright Brothers took off and flew for the first time, but the adult in him drove until he saw the shopping center with the grocery store.

The house would be without supplies and they'd need to stock up before they went to inspect the wind damage to the roof and arrange for repairs. The property management company had called Sheldon, but he'd encouraged Sam and Amanda to go, if only so Sam could see where their family had been enjoying their summer vacations the past decade or so.

"I don't think you'll be bothered by sand between your toes," Sheldon said. "You'll like it there."

Shel was right. Sam liked it.

"Manda. Manda, honey." She turned and opened her eyes and smiled at him. "We're here."

That moment, that lovely, brief moment when she woke was the same one she had so many years ago, the same one he'd held close but had kept safely and deeply buried. It was the same one he saw on her face six months ago or just this morning or mere hours ago. The wakeful, sweet smile Amanda had for him always hit him exactly the same way to steal a tiny breath of air from his lungs.

He wished he understood why he'd blocked that from his memory for so long. Because he knew what he was doing now.

He was free-diving in the deep without enough air to reach the surface.

What would he do if he woke some morning knowing he would never again see that sleepy, sweet smile from her? He hadn't considered that, not until this moment.

"Hey, we're here, Manda. Shopping center."

"Okay, oh." She blinked and looked around and straightened up in her seat then put her hands across her belly and groaned softly. She inhaled sharply.

"Sam, please," she asked.

And he reached over to smooth his hand across hers, to let it rest there for a few moments until the activity inside her womb calmed. He didn't understand why that always happened that way, but whenever she asked him, he was happy to do that. He wondered if this wasn't some gift of fatherhood he'd never heard of until now, like Couvade Syndrome, only much more pleasant.

"Okay?" He smiled.

"Thank you." She straightened up and left a quick kiss on his lips then wrinkled her nose. "I just need a ladies room."

He'd parked next to a fast food restaurant, the nearest source of a restroom. "Right in there."

"Oh, good."

He'd followed her in and waited, and he knew it annoyed her that he'd been doing that, but he couldn't help himself. As Fiona had pointed out, this woman was precious to him and he loved her.

"Groceries next?" he asked when she returned.

She nodded and smiled. "Yes. I'm anxious for you to see the house. I hope you like it."

And he did.

It was located not far from the Corps of Engineers research pier, angled so that if he stood on the deck and looked to the east there was an ocean. If he looked to the west there was the Sound. Between was a fragile barrier, a narrow strip of land between two large bodies of water. It was, simply, a little bit of heaven in a restful location, especially when the waters were calm. It could be a terrifying position if the ocean was furious, and that had been demonstrated in decades past.

It was late in the hurricane season, and he'd checked the weather. There wasn't anything brewing anywhere in the Atlantic to shorten their trip.

He'd parked under the house elevated like all the others, to allow surges and storm waters to wash through without harming the primary structure. He followed Amanda with her keys up interior stairs to the main level of the house while she unlocked the door and flipped on lights.

Sam was a bit concerned about the security and privacy of a house that was primarily a rental property with multiple sets of tenants, with multiple access points, and multiple possibilities of keys unreturned to the rental agent, but Amanda brushed off his concerns. "We have many more problems here with storm damage than vandalism," she said.

The house exterior as well as the interior walls were cedar, the ideal wood for weathering in the environment with the bonus that it was very pleasantly scented. He walked close behind her, as she went through the house checking the conditions of the rooms, the windows, doors and sliding glass doors on the upper and raised living areas. One deck faced the ocean side, stairs led down to the path to the beach. The other deck angled toward the Sound and the decks joined across the north side of the house.

It was an older and smaller beach house property with enough room for eight to sleep, which made it attractive to single family groups visiting the area.

She'd brought along bedding and towels from home, and he'd taken those and their bags to the upper level where he'd made the bed before he changed into shorts and a t-shirt. He pulled on a wind shirt and dug out a pair of well-worn boat shoes from the bottom of his bag.

He'd brought the grocery supplies from the SUV to the kitchen area, and stashed the cold items in the fridge. Amanda had turned on the appliances and by the time she left the bathroom to join him in the bedroom he'd changed.

She smiled at his transformation. "You look like a regular beach bum."

"I've had a lot of practice," Sam said, grinning. "I put your bag in the closet. Let me get it for you."

She opened it and found what she was looking for, maternity shorts. "These are Zoe's. I hope they fit. I'm lot bigger than she was."

He frowned. "I don't think so."

"I mean my middle is bigger. Twins take up more room."

She said it so quietly, so softly he wasn't sure he heard that.

When she looked up into his face, he smiled and stepped close to her to cup his hands around her shoulders. He could see the truth of that news in her eyes, and he saw something else, too. She was worried. And why wouldn't she be? He had not acquitted himself well when he'd learned she was pregnant.

"Twins?" he smiled.

"Umhuh."

He leaned down and looked into her eyes. "We're having twins, Manda?"

She bit the inside of her lip a little and confirmed it again.

"Just a minute," he said, drawing in a deep breath as he put one hand over his heart. "Twins." He smiled and then he laughed.

He was still laughing as he folded his arms around her. He looked down and found her lips with his, then kissed her cheek and that sweet little heart on her neck by her ear before he found his way back to her lips. "I can't believe the gifts you give me."

Then he pulled away slightly to look into her face and laughed again.

She was smiling but puzzled. "You're happy?"

"Of course I'm happy. Aren't you?"

Some kind of wall she'd built to protect herself crumbled; he watched it happen in front of his eyes, and it had taken so few words.

"Yes, yes, I am."

They both laughed then.

"We're crazy," he said as he enclosed her into another warm embrace.

"Uh huh." She looked up and put both of her hands on his face and held them so she could look into his eyes. "I love you, Sam."

He closed his eyes and felt his heart skip a beat for those lovely words, this sweetest of gifts. He'd known it. From that moment when he stepped on the porch and had been greeted by Diesel before he saw her, in that perfect moment she'd whispered it to him when they made love that first time after so many years apart, in the way she sought his hand and said his name when she was in the hospital, to every time she looked at him and smiled, he'd known it.

Hearing her say it to him now, out loud, for this, their children, made him feel weak.

"Aw, Manda, I love you, too."

And there, in a moment, that small smile that had worried him so much was gone. He wondered what had changed.

"When did you find out?" He leaned down to kiss her baby tummy.

"Last week while Mike and Fi were here. We're having a girl and a boy."

"Really? A girl, too?"

"Really." And then they both laughed. Again.

"Come on. Let's take our beach walk while it's still light. They have those push things for riding twins around, right? We're going to have to get one for sand. With an umbrella thing on it."

Amanda laughed. "We'll have to look into that and then get a wagon to pull them in when they're older."

"Oh, yeah," Sam said, grinning. "That'd be good, too." He handed her the oversized hooded sweatshirt she'd packed and she pulled it on. They locked the house and walked the path to the beach, hand in hand.

The summer season had long passed, and this was the time of year some permanent residents liked best. The crowds were gone. There was enough ambient warmth to make it pleasant, enough chill that sweatshirts and jackets made cozy friends. The air was lighter, fresh and clear.

They found several other couples walking on the beach. A grandma and a grandpa with two little boys with plastic shovels and buckets were busy collecting shells and other interesting things from the sand.

Sam and Amanda chose the hard packed, wave licked sand as the path that made walking more stable and easier but allowed for sudden splashes, too. Sam took the side near moving water. With her arm around his waist and his on her shoulders, every so often they would look at each other and laugh.

"We'll have to think of two names now," he said to her. "And not Sam or Amanda. They've been used, twice."

"Do you want to pick the girl name and I'll pick the boy's name?"

"Sure. Are you thinking of something?"

He paused, looked around and tugged her hand. There was enough of a dune behind them to block most of the wind and allow them to sit and watch the ocean roll toward them. They sat close to each other, and Sam wrapped his arm around her, pulling her closer.

"For a girl? How about Zoe?"

"Sure. But we'd have to call her Zee, to eliminate confusion." Amanda laughed. "I thought we had too many of the same names already. Do you really want to complicate it?"

"But I like that name," Sam said. "Seriously."

"I think you like the Zoe who gives you such a hard time, or at least that's what Sheldon said."

"I do. Okay, it's your turn. Pick a boy's name."

"How about . . . Charles? We could call him Chuck." She turned then and looked into his face and watched as he blushed. Then she laughed. "Mike told me about a cover ID—after he told me what that was—one that he had when he met Fiona, and how he'd used that name since then, which made me wonder about you. I want to know all about Chuck Findley and when you started using that name. Mike wouldn't confirm or deny, but I know he's you. Or your alter ego or your cover ID. Which one?"

She put her hand on his warm cheek that was pink under the tan and looked into warm brown eyes. "I didn't know men did this." It was fun to see Sam embarrassed.

"I didn't know men get fake morning sickness, either. Did Zoe tell you?"

"No one told me anything," she said, still holding his face softly. "Who else but you would put up great big signs that say _Sam loves Amanda_? Or _Please forgive me_? Who would do that? I know what you're doing, Sam. At first I didn't understand. I just want to tell you thank you for that."

He held her gaze, his expression was serious. "I know they embarrassed you."

"At first, yes, and I didn't like the reporters. But I love you for what you are trying to do. It's working, if you're interested." She closed the small distance between their lips to kiss him, then rested her head on his shoulder as they watched daylight grow into darker blue and gray as night arrived. She stood up and brushed the sand from her seat, her legs and held out her hand. "Come on, sailor. We can come back all day tomorrow. Let's go get something to eat."

Sam rose and copied her movements, brushing sand away. "I don't get homesick, I get sea sick," he said quietly as he reached for her hand.

Amanda clasped his hand and looked up into his face. "I remember. You told me that a long time ago. We'll have to figure out what to do about it," she said as she began walking toward the house. "I've never been that far away from home, Sam. This is about as far as I've ever traveled. I've never had a reason to go anyplace else, but I can understand missing something or someone that much."

He glanced down at her, and read the expression on her face. He closed his eyes, briefly, kissed her forehead and wrapped an arm around her shoulders as they walked back the way they'd come.

They hadn't gone very far when he wondered. "Are dogs allowed here?"

"Yes. We'll bring Diesel the next time."

"And the kids," Sam said. "Zee and Chuck."

Amanda laughed. "I think we need to find some other names."

"I like Zee. And Charlie."

She laughed again. "Were you always this stubborn?"

He stopped walking and faced her, his voice quiet and serious. "Often to my detriment, Amanda. It's something we have in common."

"Being stubborn—or determined—is not always bad," she said as she pulled his hand and continued on to the house. "As long as we aren't talking about my truck," she teased.

"I know you're still upset about that."

She turned and held his hand walking backward, facing him as she walked. "No, I'm not. If you hadn't gotten upset and made me give it up, I could be dead."

"Or if I hadn't been so stubborn—determined—that you were getting a new truck that day, you wouldn't have even been on the road and wouldn't have been in that accident."

She stopped walking and shook her head with a small smile. "So you're feeling guilty about something you had no control over. This means we're back to you being the only one of us who can make mistakes. That doesn't work for us, for either you or me. You already said I'm sorry in a gigantic way. Accidents are just accidents. Mistakes are just . . . mistakes."

He shrugged. "But I have so much more experience in that area than you."

She stopped when she reached the steps up to the elevated level of the house, and turned back to him. Two steps up put her at his eye level. She rested her arms on top of his shoulders and looked into his face. "You told me about one already, so you'll have to tell me the rest and let me decide. Deal?"

The voice of Fiona Glenanne Westen whispered in his ear just then. "Deal."

"You don't seem happy about that," Amanda laughed as they climbed the stairs.

"Mistakes are never fun to revisit."

It was always easy to forget how far they'd walked, so their trip back to the house had been made in darkness. At least they'd left some of the lights on inside.

"Then start by telling me all the things you've done that weren't mistakes."

He didn't want to do that, either, so he changed her focus. "Coming home, finding you, this wasn't a mistake. Taking so long to get here, that was."

#

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#

By the time they'd eaten a small meal and cleaned up the kitchen, they adjourned to the deck. The chairs had been moved inside for storage when the house was without tenants, so Sam took two of them out on the deck.

It was pleasantly dark, with bright spots here and there, many illuminating the Army research pier. There was enough of a cloud cover that the moon and stars were hidden. They sat with their feet on deck rails, cups of hot tea in their hands with dreams and worries sitting on their shoulders.

"Manda, I have no idea what to do when we have two babies. Where do we start?" he wondered quietly. "I don't know how to do anything with one, but with two? I don't want to let you down because I don't know how to do anything. I watch Zoe and Sam . . .they seem to have some kind of system."

"I don't want to let you down, either, so we'll help each other. That's how it'll work. First, we wait for them to be born. After that, it'll be an adventure a day. We'll need to get two of everything."

"Are you worried?"

"A little, but not really. This is so different than when I was waiting for Sam."

He couldn't say anything that would be coherent, so he just reached for her hand to hold it.

"I know most people our ages aren't having this conversation, not when they're already grandparents. I thought about the childbirth classes, but I don't think you're a childbirth class kind of husband so I'll borrow Zoe's book. That should help. And you can talk to Sam, too," she said grinning before she paused. "I'm probably going to need a lot of your help. The doctor said because Sam was born that way, he'd want to do another C-section."

Sam glanced over to her. "You're worried about that."

"A little."

No, he thought, watching her. A lot.

#

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#

Even with the windows cracked open to let in the hushed, restful sounds of wind and water, both Sam and Amanda woke, instantly alert to the sound of another presence in the house.

"Ssshhh." He turned out of the bed, pulled on the shorts he'd worn and retrieved the weapon he'd left in his overnight bag.

Amanda touched his arm and whispered. "Lights to the right at the bottom of the stairs for the lower level." Sam stood at the bedroom door, listened for the source of the sound then whispered close to Amanda's ear. "Stay back."

She did as he asked, but did so by first retrieving her Ruger LCP from her bag. Vandalism was a common off-season risk to this area where homes were rented by the week or month and owners lived near and far. But it would be obvious this house was occupied which meant the potential for someone looking for money was much higher.

Which would make the situation more dangerous.

Amanda followed slowly, cautiously and waited at the top of the stairs. When Sam flipped on the lights, told them to stop and pointed his .45 at them, she could see two men in the kitchen. One had been using a small flashlight while the other was looking through her purse. Her wallet was in his hand.

"Drop it," Sam ordered. The second man had quickly raised a gun and pointed it at Sam. That's when Amanda stepped around the landing, looked down and added her own message—a red laser beam centered on the chest of the man pointing the gun at Sam.

"Don't do that. We don't want to hurt you, but we will."

There was something quite magical about that little red dot. He held his arms up slowly and Sam removed the gun from his elevated hand.

Amanda walked down the steps and stood across from Sam.

"There's kite cord in the drawer to the left of the stove," she said. "I'll get it for you."

Sam looked down at the small .380 caliber weapon in her hand. "Sheldon?"

She nodded. "Of course, a long time ago."

Within minutes both men were bound, and seated in two chairs. While Amanda called the local police, Sam asked them who they were and what they wanted.

"Just some cash."

He grinned. "Oh, I don't think so." He'd already retrieved their wallets. "You're a long way from home, boys. Why would two guys from Greensboro be here, checking out my wife's purse?"

He set the wallets on the counter then retrieved Amanda's phone and took photos of their IDs. A few seconds later, he sent them to Jesse. Then he turned and took their photos.

"Hey, man, you can't do that. I got rights."

"Gee, and I think I do, too. You're in my home and you weren't invited. You pointed a gun at me in my house."

"This ain't your home, man."

"Manda, is this our home?" Sam asked, turning to look at her.

"Our vacation home. I'm pretty sure it says Cross/Axe on the tax bill."

"Ah, that's it. He needs a vacation. What is it here, county jail? Or city? Hey, what do you get for breaking and entering using a weapon in North Carolina, Manda?"

"I don't know," she said. "But these guys will." She'd been waiting for local law enforcement to arrive. Two officers stepped inside and appraised the situation, listened to the story and then added handcuffs to the kite string Sam had used.

It was a rapid transaction that ended with both of the prisoners being escorted from their home. The friendly officer taking the report returned and promised Amanda he would call her tomorrow and she could sign a formal complaint if she wanted.

The second time he called her Manda, Sam's teeth clenched together. It was obvious they knew each other from the years she had vacationed here, but his familiarity was just a little too familiar. Had the cop missed that she was pregnant?

Sam stepped up, extended his hand and forced the cop to refocus. "Sam Axe. Amanda's husband. I'm afraid I didn't catch your name, officer."

He introduced himself as a police sergeant. Then he excused himself after repeating the information that she'd be contacted tomorrow.

After they left, Sam secured the deadbolt and checked the other door, then turned and looked at Amanda.

She was smiling at him. "That was fun."

"It was?"

"Yes. Were you feeling threatened?"

"No. I was tired of him calling you Manda. That's for family. Or friends."

"Oh, I see."

Sam didn't meet her gaze. She reached for his hand and held it on their way up the stairs, back toward the bedroom. Sam snapped off the light at the top of the stairs.

By the time they returned to the bed and turned the light next to it, Amanda turned toward Sam to rest her head on his shoulder while he rested his hand on her baby belly. She couldn't stop smiling. Her husband reacting jealously was simply not something she had ever expected to happen in her life. Not ever.

For some ridiculous reason, that made her very happy.

#

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#

Sometimes Sam's solutions to his problems bore unexpected results.

Unpleasant results.

Maybe he hadn't thought about this long enough before he told Amanda he thought, while she could still travel, she might like meeting the rest of the people in Miami who had been so important to him when he lived here.

He thought, maybe, it was time for Amanda to see another state besides North Carolina. He'd traveled all over the world, and while most of the places he'd been had not been on any tourist map, he thought Amanda might like seeing Miami and, meeting the rest of Mike's family and Jesse and Dani would be good, too. Maybe even Raines, because he had a couple of questions for him.

Yes, he should have thought about this longer. Sometimes his snap judgments were a little too snappy. He should have foreseen this event, although he had tried to avoid trouble.

He had most definitely tried to change things, to redirect things, but Fiona insisted.

If he was going to give Amanda the full, realistic Miami tour, she needed to visit Carlitos with them. They still stopped in occasionally, but it was no longer the home away from the places they'd slept a couple of years earlier.

So, they went to Carlitos.

This was why he found himself sitting under an umbrella at a table surrounded by his friends, with two beers he didn't want or order sitting in front of his spot between Maddie and Mike with a rather lusciously shaped, inadequately-clad waitress squealing and making herself at home in his lap.

"Oh, Sammy, Sammy, you're back!"

"I'm not back," he tried to say, but he couldn't say much more than that because a pair of strawberry glossed lips hit his and suctioned off with an audible smack. He pulled back, but she didn't seem to notice.

"Oh, we missed you, darlin'. Where've you been? You've been gone like foreevveerr!"

"Excuse me," he tried saying, between kisses being planted on various parts of his face. "Please? Please? I need to introduce _my wife_."

Boy, did that word have the magic effect he desperately hoped it would. At least she stopped kissing him.

"Ah, my wife, Amanda." He nodded toward her. His hands were open and clearly visible on either side of his body, since he was afraid to touch anything. Way too much bare skin there. Way too much.

The redhead with her arm around his neck and her generous chest nearly under his chin, glanced over her shoulder to see Amanda sitting across the table. The moment she realized Amanda was pregnant, she jumped up off Sam's lap as if she'd been burned. Her mouth fell open slightly and she blinked hugely. Within seconds, she vanished, without another word.

"I warned you," Fiona said to Amanda. "That might happen again." She turned then and looked over her shoulder. "Wow, that was fast. I guess we'll be getting a new waitress."

When everyone turned to follow Fi's line of vision as the woman who had so recently occupied Sam's lap left Carlitos by the door farthest away from their table, Sam tried to apologize without words to Amanda who was sitting across from him with a strange smile on her face. He had no idea what that meant.

He glanced at Fi and gritted his teeth. This was sabotage of the first order, despite the benign smile on her face. He'd speak with her later because she was the person who, more than anyone else, insisted they come here today.

At least Mike and Jesse were somewhere between sympathy and empathy, and they weren't laughing at him like Maddie. However, they currently were sending him messages that he wasn't able to decipher.

"Oh, for Pete's sake," Maddie said. "Sam, you have lipstick all over your face. Wipe it off."

He picked up a napkin and proceeded to do that, and was startled by how much had been there.

Next time he glanced at Amanda, she was calmly sipping an iced tea and still smiling at his embarrassment.

Amanda had no idea of how many people knew Sam, but it seemed like every other person walking nearby stopped to say hello to him. As soon as he did, he introduced her. The only names she could remember were the FBI guy, something Harris, a grim looking man she didn't care for at all, and the man with the purse and the earrings, Barry something.

They'd flown in yesterday on a private jet after she'd lost that debate with her son. She knew that topic would receive further attention, but not until they returned home. Both of the Sams in her life had been getting a bit pushy lately, particularly when it came to things they thought she should do or not do, and it was beginning to annoy her.

Maddie and Doug had met them at the airport to drive them back to her house for a family welcome home dinner.

"Welcome home, even if it's just a plain old welcome, but you're here now and that's all that counts," Maddie said to Sam. Then she looked at Amanda. "We're going to try not to overwhelm you, honey, so let me show you where you can go to escape or take a nap, okay? And the bathroom's back here, too. Fiona used to need some space after Michael first got better, and you look to be about the same size as she was then."

She'd been surprised to learn Maddie had spent several months in North Carolina under federal protection while her son, Fiona, Sam, Jesse and his wife Dani were working on some big project. "Don't even ask them about that crap," Maddie suggested. "It's all hush-hush, big secret CIA stuff."

"What did you do while you were in New Bern?" Amanda asked.

Maddie grinned. "I got a great little job at a garden center and I met Doug. Originally, I got the job because I just needed cigarette money, but I had to quit. I loved that job. I'm a lot better with plants than I am food. You'll be okay here because Doug cooks. I'm good with take-out but I don't really, uh, cook."

Doug, she learned, had relocated to Miami to be with Maddie. He was a pleasant man, retired from both military and civilian careers as a chef. He'd been trying to convince her to marry him and move back to North Carolina with him, but Maddie was reluctant.

She also learned Sam had lived with her, or rather, in her house, a couple of times. Some of the stories Maddie told were interesting in a bizarre fashion, and almost too incredible to believe, but whenever she caught Sam's gaze, she realized these things did happen, like when she and Sam used Christmas lights and shotgun shells to make a bomb to blow up her solarium because they were being attacked. Right here on this pleasant residential street in Miami. Or the fact that they used her garage to interrogate people. Or that Fiona and Sam spent at least two solid years arguing about everything two people not romantically involved could argue about.

She kept glancing at Sam and always found him watching, waiting for her reaction. When lunch ended, it was a toss-up as to who was more grateful to be leaving, Amanda or Sam.

As the left, he was behind her, his hand at the small of her back when she looked up. "Guessing she was one of the mistakes you didn't want to tell me about," she said very quietly, and then she smiled. "You still have some lipstick by your left ear."

He swiped at it and brushed his hand across the wild red and white floral shirt he was wearing.

Jesse returned to work and Maddie and Doug returned to her home. Fiona was taking Gabe with her and returning to their apartment while Michael drove them to a place they all called the loft.

It was located by the river in an industrial area, above a night club and a daunting set of stairs for a pregnant woman. She assured Sam she was fine.

She did remark about the Dodge Charger stored behind the moveable metal wall. It looked like a vehicle that would be at home in North Carolina.

Inside the loft, there was no air conditioning, but Michael opened doors to a deck area while Sam levered open high windows on the far end of the room and within moments there was a pleasant if humid breeze. Amanda sat in a green chair by the bed, as Sam handed her a bottle of water he'd retrieved from an old refrigerator that sat in the corner.

"This place saved my life a couple of times," Michael said. "When I was first burned, I needed a place to work, to sleep, to be and I was lucky to find this. Sam and Fi and I used to plan jobs for clients here."

He pointed to the bench in the kitchen area. "We worked there, and upstairs." She could see a sofa at the top and a desk. "Sam slept up there, when he lived here, and when he helped me remember my life."

"You keeping this place, Mike?" Sam asked.

"For now. I come here to work out. Jesse likes the SecuriCorp gym, but I come here. I figure if I keep coming, I'll get the rest of what I can't remember back."

"What . . . did you forget?" Amanda wondered.

"Fiona . . . and a lot of other things. Your husband, my friend, saved my life. Right here, in this place." Michael looked around the room. "What your son is doing at the warehouse he has for the men he served with, Sam did here for me, one on one."

"He did?"

Michael nodded.

"How long did that take . . . to remember Fiona?"

"Almost four months."

"What happened?"

Michael watched as Sam, shaking his head no left the room and went out on the deck.

That's when Michael decided to interfere with this best friend's life, break a few CIA rules and give Sam time to yell at Fiona.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

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"If this is a gotcha call, Fi, I'm hanging up."

"Come on, Sam. That wasn't so bad."

"Seriously, Fi, that was _not nice."_

"No permanent harm was done. You were embarrassed, that's all."

"_You planned that_. Did you call to make sure she'd be at Carlito's today?"

"No planning. Just some hoping. And I played fair. I warned Amanda."

"That was _playing fair_? I don't know what to say except—"

Fiona interrupted him. "Oh, Sam. You know exactly what to say. You put it on huge signs for everyone to see. I took pictures. Maddie and Dani loved them, Ruthie, too."

Sam was not about to explain himself. Or the signs. If he gave an inch, Fi would take him five miles down a road he wasn't interested in traveling, so he let that slide.

He wasn't offended for himself, but he also was not looking forward to his conversation with Amanda later. An accounting of his past sins was not at the top of his list of fun stuff to do in Miami with his wife. Worse, he couldn't even remember that waitress' name. Cindy? Cee something, maybe? It didn't matter. She didn't matter, and neither did any of the other women he'd wasted too much time with.

Amanda mattered.

Visiting the loft wasn't on his list of scenic stops, either, but here they were because Amanda wanted to see the place, and he hadn't thought far enough ahead to ask Mike to discourage it.

He could hear Mike and Amanda talking in the other room and was anxious to get back there, but at least he could trust Mike not to embarrass him the way Fiona did.

"We're not going back to Carlitos, Fi. Just so you know."

"Hey, Sam. I'm a little sorry, just a little," she laughed.

He lowered his voice; his tone was serious. "Fi, I didn't pick on you and Mike."

He stood at the far end of the deck, looking out to the small slice of river visible from the deck, his back to Mike and Amanda. There was silence on the other end of his phone.

When she spoke again, her voice was quiet. "You're right. You didn't. I owe you an apology, Sam. On the upside, the word will spread that you're married and have a pregnant wife. None of your former, uh, ladies will come near you."

"That's the upside from that mess?"

"I really am sorry, Sam," she said in the most contrite tone he'd ever heard from her.

"Yeah."

"Have you told her—"

He interrupted her again.

"Fi, if you're going to hand out more advice, I'm full up. I'm sorry as hell whatever I'm doing doesn't fit what anyone thinks I ought to be doing." He knew he was being short with her, but he was weary of it all.

"I said I was sorry."

"I'm just doing this one day at a time. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I do, because that's what Michael and I do. I really like Amanda, Sam."

He laughed a little then and felt that thing in the middle of his chest turn into knots. "So do I."

"I just . . ." she paused. "I just want you to be happy. That's all."

"I am. And I'm working on the rest. Is that good enough?" He wasn't particularly contrite about the sharp, pointed spin he'd put on his comment.

He heard her take a deep breath. "_I am sorry, Sam."_

"I know." He took a cleansing breath and let it out slowly, and was glad Fi changed topics.

"Will you be headed back this way soon?"

"I think so." He hoped so.

He turned around to see Amanda walk over and look up at the climbing rope he'd installed as part of Mike's physical rebuilding program after he got out of the hospital in the weakest physical state he had ever seen his friend endure.

"I'll see you later, then. I promised I'd take Gabe over to Maddie's after his nap."

As soon as he ended his call with Fi, his phone vibrated again. It was Jesse.

"Hey, man, where you at?"

"The loft. Amanda wanted to see it."

"Can you come by the office? There's a little more information on those guys that broke into the beach house. And someone's really motivated to snoop around CrossAxe assets. Bring your wife."

When Sam didn't respond to that, Jesse tacked on, "Or not."

Sam was thankful he wasn't interested in discussing the Carlitos incident. But the two SecuriCorp faces that floated to the front of Sam's mind didn't belong to Jesse. One of them was the receptionist who sat just past the security desk, and the other was Jesse's assistant. He'd spent cozy hours with both of them in the not so distant past. Maybe taking Amanda there wasn't such a hot idea.

"Is that something you could bring with you tonight or ah . . .?"

Sam was grateful Jesse was a mind-reader. Also, half of the reason they both knew CrossAxe was being investigated was because Zoe requested a background check on him which originated at another SecuriCorp location, something Sam didn't want Amanda to know.

"Sure."

"Thanks, Jess."

Sam closed his phone and walked back inside the loft. Amanda was sitting at the counter on a stool, and Mike was handing her another bottle of chilled water.

"I had a fridge just like that one," Amanda was saying. "It wasn't as rusty, but the darned thing just wouldn't die. Our son has it sitting in his garage now for soda and beer. It's as old as he is."

Sam took the seat next to her. "Jesse's bringing some stuff by tonight. He has something he wants to show us about those guys who broke into the beach house."

The glance she gave him was puzzled. "I thought we were done with that . . ."

"I sent their photos to Jess that night, remember?"

"Oh. But Dee got everything she needed from the police. Remember the cop you didn't like? He sent the information like he said he would."

When Sam's phone rang again, he answered. He stood then gazed at the ceiling. There was a pinched expression around his eyes as if he'd been slammed with a tension headache, and he might have been.

Michael recognized the sound of the demanding voice on the other end of Sam's phone and winced. Amanda heard it, too, and watched her husband's reaction as he held the phone slightly away from his ear.

"Yes, Maddie, I know I promised. I know. Okay. Okay, I'll be there. You could have . . . no, it's okay. Just . . . just . . . yeahhhh."

He closed his phone and looked at Michael who was sympathetically amused.

"It's about those boxes in the garage, right?" Michael said.

"Yeah. Why didn't she just pitch them? I told her she should."

"If I knew the answer to that, I'd tell you."

"Crap."

Amanda watched her husband's frown turn into a full-fledged scowl.

"I swear, Mikey. Your ma needs to join the CIA. You ought to talk to Raines about that. I don't know how she always manages to pick the perfect way to . . ."

"Years of practice," Michael said. "If you go over there now, you can leave the Charger and get a ride back with Fi. That way you won't get stuck there as long."

Sam turned back and glanced between Michael and Amanda.

Michael grinned. "What, Sam?" he asked with an amused expression. "You don't trust me with your wife?"

Amanda watched them exchange a silent communication she couldn't decipher.

Sam glanced at Amanda. "Is that okay with you?"

"Of course," she said as she put her hand on his arm. He leaned down, gave her a quick, soft kiss and left.

"We'll meet you back at the apartment," Michael said.

Before he left, he glanced back to Mike and Amanda and asked himself again why he'd thought bringing her for a visit to Miami was such a good idea.

#

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She heard his quick footsteps on the metal stairs, heard the rigid metal wall move and the muscle car rumble to life.

"Is there a bathroom here?" she wondered.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I should have pointed that out first," Michael said.

He was sitting in a chair on the deck when she returned, and her water bottle had been moved to a reclaimed wooden spool used as table next to where he'd moved the comfortable green chair into the shade. It was humid, pleasantly warm and breezy, and certainly different than chilly North Carolina this time of year.

"You've got something on your mind," she said.

"I do." He glanced over to her. "I think you do, too."

"We could be thinking about the same person."

He smiled. "We could. He's my best friend, and the only one I had for a long time."

"My husband. Only one I've had."

It had been interesting, watching and observing Sam and his friends in what had been his day to day environment in Miami, but she wasn't fooled. Except for Fiona, they were all handling her with kid gloves, out of respect for Sam.

When they were in a group and she was present, she sensed they weighed parts of their conversation before speaking. It was a just a small thing, something many wouldn't notice unless they were attuned to it, but she'd encountered too many situations where slightly guilty expressions and quick glances away from her told her she'd been the most recent topic of conversation.

It had been different when they were with just Michael and Fiona and their baby boy, because babies perfectly focus adult attentions, and because dealing with two people is always so much different than dealing with room filled with friends who only knew her as Sam's mysterious wife who'd been hiding in the Blue Ridges for decades.

She knew they all had questions, and she knew they were all too polite to ask. At least while she was present. She wondered what they said to Sam when she wasn't around. She understood Sam knew Madeline's demand for his presence at her home had to do with something more than just moving boxes.

The thoughtful things Michael said about Sam shouldn't have surprised her, but they did and pleasantly so. She was looking forward to this time with him alone, without either Fiona or Sam.

"For a long time, after I returned to Miami, Sam was my only friend," Michael said. "My mom and brother were here, Fi was here, but . . . that was different."

She nodded. "Of course."

"I think it was four years ago—my memory is still hazy on some things—before I learned that my friend was married. I'd known him close to 20 years by then. If the word 'marriage' was in one of our conversations, it was in reference to my brother or Fi, so we never, well, I never . . . anyway . . . Fi actually learned he was married first, but . . ." When Michael realized what he'd been about to say, he paused.

"That must have been about Veronica."

He studied her briefly.

"It was. Sam had been at my mom's house, to keep her out of harm's way more than anything else, when one day a guy shows up and wants to talk to him. I've met several of Sam's old SEAL buddies, but I'd never seen him say hello to one of them with a fist. All he would say was that it was personal. My mother told me she'd overheard their conversation before he left and that was when we learned your name was Amanda. For people who lived and worked together as closely as we had, and for as long as we did, finding out about you, and then, a few months ago, about your son was . . ."

"Shocking, I imagine."

"Yes."

"Probably as shocking as seeing Sam appear on the front porch. When our son showed up, he shook his father's hand and then he turned around and hit him. Hard. Sheldon and Zoe were the only people happy to see him arrive. We had a few things to work out, and some old misunderstandings to clear up." She looked away from him and down at her baby belly. "Some big misunderstandings."

"What my wife did today at lunch—because that was her doing with that waitress—" Michael began with a subdued tone of voice, but Amanda interrupted and smiled.

"It was funny, wasn't it? Poor Sam, though. He was embarrassed."

"Still—"

"That was between friends, Michael. I don't think there are going to be any long term hard feelings over that waitress today, certainly not mine. Long term laughter maybe."

Michael looked as if he was debating something.

"You are all a family. I understand," she said, "because Sheldon's the brother I never had. He was my family before he was my family. The thing is, I'm new to your mix, and none of you know what to expect from me." She met Michael's steady blue gaze with one of her own. "All this spy stuff, it's a little confusing. In my world, the CIA is the Culinary Institute of America. I don't do what you all seem to know how to do. My presence throws everyone out of sync, and then this part of me and Sam," she said as she placed her hands on either side of her babies, "this really confuses everyone."

Michael raised an eyebrow and smiled. "We're out of sync?"

She grinned. "When you're all together, yes. I can see it and feel it. I know you can, too. And it's worse for Sam, because I like to mess with him."

Michael grinned. "You mess with him?"

"Not like Fi did. I have my own ways. He's easy to confuse."

There was laughter in Michael's eyes when he said, "Not usually. He's an intelligence specialist. He doesn't . . ."

"There are places our worlds do not intersect. For example, phones are tools, and I know you use them very differently than we . . . civilians do. Sam knows I turn off my cell phone and he finds that really annoying which is why I do it, of course. When he figures that out and asks me why, I'll tell him. Right now, he lectures me. Or gets annoyed. He even bought me a new phone. As for the rest, we're working on it, a little at a time. He says he's not leaving again and I believe him."

Michael looked down to his hands. "This is unoriginal, but, Fi and I have been there, and we've done that. We did that too long."

"You seem to have come through it."

He spoke softly. "Twice. And this last time was because my friend and your husband helped me recover from ASD. I don't like acknowledging that's what I'm still dealing with, but Sam gave me tools he knew I'd need. Your son does this, too, at his warehouse, for the men he served with in Iraq. Both of them had to have dealt with that or something like that at some point. I suppose it's like getting burned by steam in your world. A standard risk or the result of a mistake."

Michael hoped she would remember that, because the more he thought about what he knew about Sam, the more it made sense, even though they'd never discussed it.

"I'm glad he was here for you, and I'm sure he wouldn't want it any other way. Sam and I are not on the same page yet, but we'll get there. It might help if you'd all stop handling me with like I'll break. I'm not that fragile."

"No, but we don't want to do anything that might hurt you."

"That's because you're nice people."

"He was really upset by your accident. That must have been frightening."

"It was, what I can remember. I expected driving again would be hard, but it wasn't as difficult as I thought. Being angry with Sam made it a lot easier, if that makes sense."

A wry grin creased his cheeks. "You have a lot in common with Fi."

"You're not going to ask the question everyone wants the answer to, are you?" she said softly.

He shook his head no.

Fiona had already proposed a theory about Sam and Amanda's years of separation based on what she'd heard when they were getting pedicures, and her friends Dee and Rosey talked about their bad reputations. That was between the women; he'd had no place in that conversation, and he didn't want to.

"Thank you."

"I think," he said slowly, "the reason why you spent 30 years apart is between you and Sam. It's personal. I left Fi in Ireland . . . that was also personal."

Michael picked up a small white cube, adjusted something, and set it down on the spool table between their chairs. "This is an audio scrambler. If anyone's listening, it'll garble and mask our conversation."

"For privacy."

"I think you have questions you don't ask, but you want to."

"That's because Sam has lots of secrets. Shel says they're all classified and I should ask him, but I don't even know where to start or what to ask."

"I thought I could help. And what I'm about to tell you isn't that great of a secret now. Any decent reporter can find the basics the last operation we worked together. The least I can do is tell you about it. It's the reason I'm still on leave and so is Dani Porter . . . and I think it's part of the reason that Sam went back to North Carolina."

"Will you get in trouble if someone in the CIA finds out?"

"It's not likely. You're married to a key operative. Has Sam talked about Raines?"

"I'm supposed to meet him and his wife tomorrow night."

"Good. Raines needs him. Knowing what we did and why will help you understand."

During the next two hours, Michael supplied her with details and skeleton outline of what he, Sam, Fiona, Dani, Jesse and Raines, as well as two people from the DEA and two CIA operatives, including the strange man with the earrings and purse she'd met earlier at Carlitos, had done to eliminate the largest, most complex clandestine sabotage the entirety of American intelligence operations had ever encountered.

Ever encountered.

"It's already changed the way intelligence organizations look at evaluating personnel, and it's added a couple of layers of new protections for people who've been fired the way I was. The Pentagon tried to keep it a secret, but they've already formed a new agency, the DCS. That's what Sam wants to talk to Raines about," Michael explained.

She asked questions. He answered.

It was almost too much to absorb, Amanda realized, but then Michael explained a scene in a parking lot that Sam and two other men finessed while Fiona freed him from a bomb wrapped around his waist by some irritated Russians who'd kidnapped him.

"I don't remember much about what happened next, but Fi and Sam do."

"This is like a crash course in bad guys, Michael."

He laughed a bit. "Yes, and I've only included about half of them."

Amanda put her hand over her heart when she comprehended the enormity of what Sam and his friends had done. She realized Michael had nearly died that day. He finished by telling her how Sam's persistence had helped him return to health and Fiona before their son Gabe was born.

She'd heard a few of the same things from Fiona, but Sam had only touched lightly on the topic. Even Sheldon had said more than Sam about his CIA-related activities.

Her husband, she now understood, thanks to Michael, was a master of understatement, as well as a master of many, many other skills.

That's when she remembered something Sheldon had told her. He'd said the most heroic people who served their country and their team only discussed what they'd done during debriefings. After that, they wouldn't or couldn't talk about what happened.

She wondered what Michael had left out of his narrative of a broad war against a Pandora's Box of evil humans and their organizations, and decided she was better off not knowing.

Then she realized the obvious. Sam knew.

"There's something else," Michael offered. "I helped him pack so he could take it to North Carolina. He's been carrying around parts of his life for years. He kept them in a storage unit here and now it's somewhere there. You might ask him to show it to you."

"Thank you for telling me that, and for all of this. Thank you, Michael."

"You're welcome. We should head back to the apartment. Fi and Sam might be there by now."

He picked up the small white cube, and she stood to head to the bathroom one more time before they left, but wobbled. Luckily, Michael caught her before she lost her balance and fell.

"Oh," she said. "I wasn't expecting to do that."

He took a closer look at her face and realized she was pale and her skin was moist. "Did you get up too quickly?"

When she didn't respond, he asked, concerned more now than a moment ago. "Amanda, are you feeling okay?"

"I'm little tired, that's all."

He looked at her again. "I don't think that's all."

A quick calculation told him he could get her to the ER faster than calling 911.

"Do you think you can go down the stairs?" he asked.

"I don't know. I'm feeling a little dizzy all of a sudden."

That answered that. "I think we're going to get you checked out."

"I thought I was just tired but maybe . . ."

"Maybe we'll just make sure you're okay."

"Okay," she said softly.

He didn't take time to shut the deck door or lock up behind himself; he would call Oleg and ask for his help later. Instead, he lifted Amanda in his arms, carried her down the stairs and tucked her inside his vehicle then secured her seat belt in the SUV. He left the gate open and hurried to the nearest emergency room. He punched the phone connection on his dash and called Sam to tell him what he was doing.

"I'm tired. I think I just need to rest," Amanda assured him. "I'm sure that's all it is."

Michael wasn't about to let her take the risk. "I'd rather be safe than sorry. OK?"

He called Fi next. He learned she'd loaned Sam her car and he was enroute to the hospital. Maddie would be driving her and Gabe back to their apartment.

#

#

#

The room was cool. Much too cool. Despite the body furnace her infants provided, her flesh was chilled, she was tired, and she wanted Sam. And a blanket. She'd heard his voice. He was outside the room talking to someone. The overhead light was so bright, even with her eyes closed, she'd put her hand over them. She wanted him to come inside and make their babies be quiet. She wished she understood why they were so upset. She closed her eyes.

When she woke, she realized she was swaddled in a blanket, Sam was sitting next to her with his hands on her baby belly and there was an IV in her arm.

She blinked and looked up at the medical plumbing. "What happened?"

He stood and took her hand in his and leaned in close to her. "You were dehydrated."

"No, I was drinking water . . . "

He smiled. "Yes. And you still need this. Another hour or so and they say you'll be able to leave."

"Did I faint or . . . ?"

"Slept. You were really tired. I'm sorry, Manda. We should have stayed at home. We shouldn't have made this trip."

"But I wanted to come."

Sam seemed relieved when a doctor stepped in the room, and Amanda was relieved the doctor was older than she was. She hardly was a retiring grandmotherly type with her gel-spiked silver and steel hair, dangling teddy bear earrings and lime green running shoes. Her glasses were large and round. She looked over the top of them as she went down a list of questions.

Amanda admired her sense of style and told her so.

"Thanks. Do you have other children?" the doctor asked.

"Yes. He's 34 and has three children of his own."

A faint smile crossed the doctor's face as she glanced at Sam. "Our daughter is 43 now, and our twins are 12. It's an interesting family life. As soon as we get some of your blood and check that, and take a look at your babies, I think you'll be good to go. This seems to be a typical age-related pregnancy event. "

"The twins are fine?" Amanda asked.

"They seem to be. We'll get an ultrasound, to be sure."

An hour and a half later, everything was not as fine as Amanda hoped, but the doctor was pleased they'd so easily identified the problem.

"This was a lucky stop for you, Mrs. Axe. Take care of the anemia now, and take care of yourself for the rest of your pregnancy and you'll be fine. We've sent the test results to your doctor in North Carolina," she said, indicating what she was doing by tapping on a small hand-held computer. "He's got them now. Take care of yourself."

"If she doesn't, what can happen?" Sam interrupted the doctor before she could leave the room.

The doctor held his steady gaze. "Iron deficiency complicates the pregnancy, carrying to term, problems at delivery, lactation. It even increases the odds for infant and mother mortality, which is already compromised by an over 50 pregnancy. The good news is that, according to the information her doctor provided, this wasn't a problem two weeks ago, so the faster this is dealt with, the better you all will be. We've started that process, and you can make sure she sees her doctor as soon as you return home."

#

#

#

Michael had left his vehicle for Sam to use to bring Amanda back to the apartment, and had taken Fi's Hyundai. Sam was walking with Amanda who was not pleased to be parked in a wheelchair when he saw the familiar face of a friend down the long hospital hallway. He walked toward them with a big smile.

"Hec, how are you?" Sam greeted him warmly. "You need to meet my much better half—this is Amanda."

Father Hector Famosa Garcia kneeled down so he was on the same level as Amanda and introduced himself. "Sam and I went through SEAL training at the same time. We served together for about six years before I left the military. It's so nice to meet you. I can see you're on your way out. Are you okay?"

"Just a small bout with anemia," Amanda said. "It was sort of a surprise, but apparently it's not unusual if you're expecting twins at my age."

The priest looked up to his friend. "Then congratulations to you. You must be here visiting Michael and Fiona. I saw them after their trip to see you in North Carolina. They enjoyed that so much."

"Thanks, padre. We'll be here a couple more days, if Amanda's up for it."

Father Hector stood. "Perhaps we can get together before you go back." He pulled a small card from his pocket and then a pen and wrote a phone number on the back. "Please call me if you are going to have some unscheduled time."

"Oh, I'd like that," Amanda said holding the card in her hand. "Would you mind," she said, "uhm . . ." She placed her hands on her babies. The priest understood her request exactly as she'd intended.

And right there in the middle of a hospital corridor, Amanda and Sam's unborn children were blessed, and their safe passage into the world was requested with a prayer.

#

#

#

He was waiting outside the bathroom when she opened the door. Michael and Fiona's guest room was dark, illuminated faintly by a motion sensor night light that Sam had just activated.

"I'm okay, Sam."

"You were in the hospital, so you were not okay," he said softly. "I'm real tired of hospitals, Manda. I need to get away from them. It seems like I've spent the last year in one, somewhere. Mikey. Zoe. Twice for you. That's not a good average."

He waited until she scooched up into the comfortable bed in Mike and Fi's guest room and then joined her. She rested in his arms, her head on his shoulder, and his hand on their babies. "I'm okay, Sam."

"Now you are. You weren't earlier."

She wanted to close her eyes and go back to sleep, but she was focusing on what he'd said. Having so many people he cared about in a hospital in the past year had made him a bit over protective. Or maybe that was Sam's natural state of being. She thought back to the things Michael had told her at the loft.

She turned and pushed up on her elbow to move up and kiss him, only to find his cheeks damp. Rolling to her side, she slid her hand up his chest to his face and rose up closer to kiss his lips and his cheeks in as many places as she could.

"Manda," he sighed against her lips. "I can't lose you."

"Is that what you're thinking about? I'm fine, Sam. Really, I am." She brushed her hands across his face to hold his face with her hands and kissed him gently. "I feel the same way about you, but we're all okay. Okay?"

And turning, he rested his forehead against hers as they lay facing each other, to share sweet kisses and gentle words. Sam kept his hand on their infants, calming their activity, while Amanda kept one hand on his shoulder, caressing away the tension she felt there. She was nearly asleep when he whispered to her.

"Let's name them Purvis and Purvistina."

Amanda smiled sleepily, kissed him once more and sighed. "Tell me again in the morning."

He promised himself he would, because he needed to redirect Amanda from her discovery of his tears and his worries.

#

#

#

The morning found Sam waking to enjoy the smell of coffee. He laid in bed, listening to the soft sounds of Fi, Manda and Gabe in the kitchen. And then he realized something had changed. His bout of sympathetic morning sickness had disappeared as fast as it'd arrived.

After nine weeks and three days of it, he was vastly relieved to not feel nauseous upon opening his eyes. Maybe this trip to Miami had an upside after all.

He showered and shaved, then straightened the room, made the bed, and donned fresh khakis and a navy floral shirt before joining the ladies in the kitchen.

He went straight to the coffee pot and poured himself a cup. "Ahhh."

"It's gone, isn't it?" Amanda observed.

"Yup. How are you feeling this morning?" he asked as he leaned down to kiss her forehead.

"I'm good." She lifted her hand to her shoulder to squeeze his hand resting there.

Gabe was sitting in a high chair between Amanda and Fiona. The floor was covered with a large plastic mat and his high chair sat in the middle. He was a round, healthily pudgy sweet baby and he was smiling with two tiny teeth clearly visible in his lower jaw. It looked like he'd smashed a banana on his tray then spread it to his light brown hair, his bare chest and every other surface.

He was sticky from head to toe, and he was dropping cheerios on the floor one at a time and looking at his mom and Amanda and saying "uh oh," before squealing and giggling. His eyes were big, true blue, darkly lashed and full of mischief. "Uh oh!"

Amanda and Fi were laughing right along with him, and Fi was trying to coax him into eating a little more breakfast.

"No!" he exclaimed and took his sippy cup to bang it on the high chair tray. Both Amanda and Fiona were quickly covered with apple juice splashes.

"It's his new favorite word," Fiona laughed.

"Has he said mama yet?" Amanda wondered.

"No, the little stinker will only say da-da-da-da-da."

"That'll change soon," Amanda said. "Da is the first syllable for most babies, but Gabe sure has _no_ down."

Sam was listening to their exchange and wondering what his son said at that age, then reached for his cell phone when it rang. It was Jesse.

"Good morning. You guys up?"

"Yeah, doin' good, too."

"Want to talk about the stuff I brought home last night?"

"Now?"

"Let me check."

To Amanda and Fi's inquisitive expressions, he said "it's that stuff about the beach break-in he brought for us. Do you want to see it now or . . .?"

"After breakfast?"

Jesse heard the reply. "Sure. See you soon."

"Where's Mike?" Sam asked.

"With Jesse and Dani and Lizzy. They left some of Lizzy's stuff here last night, so he took it back to them and is probably playing with her. I think Michael's hoping we'll have a girl next."

"How you feeling, Fi?" Sam asked.

"Good. Really good. I'm glad Michael is here to enjoy all of this now."

"How far along were you before he remembered you?" Amanda asked.

"A little more than eight months."

#

#

#

When Jesse arrived, Michael followed and Fi left with Gabe to walk over to see Dani and Lizzy. Sam handed her a small stack of papers and explained what he'd asked Jesse to do, and when, and what he'd learned.

"Is this a problem?" she wondered, as she took a chair at kitchen table she'd just cleaned off for Fiona.

She flipped through the stack of print outs quickly, then returned to look a second time. She looked up to Jesse, then to Sam. "Is this a problem? I don't see problem."

"Sam had me send this to David Pence."

"That was unnecessary. Dee handles this aspect of CrossAxe and The Cakery business."

"David will give it to Dee then," Sam said.

"I don't know why he would need to," she said slowly. "She already knows this."

"How would she know this?"

"Police reports. Remember the cop you didn't like? He sent the reports just like I asked him to."

If Sam missed the edge to Amanda's response, Jesse and Michael didn't.

Jesse reported what he saw in the documents. "This looks like someone is trying to estimate your worth so they can sue you."

"They already did, and we've addressed this, so they've withdrawn the suit."

"Really?" Jesse said.

"Yes."

"Would you mind telling me what this is about? I'm in the curiosity business." Jesse asked, as he sat down in the chair next to her.

"It's all about a cake," she said with a smile. "A wedding cake that has a unique design."

Jesse grinned. "A wedding cake. Really?"

She smiled at him, and Jesse saw her eyes twinkle with amusement. "We're in really different businesses, Jesse."

"Okay, so fill me in."

"The cake starts out alternating tiers of roses with layers of cake. As each layer is served, the cake structure slides down, so that when all the cake is served, what remains is a tiered cake that looks like it's made out of roses." She used her hands, gesturing as she explained. "We serve it from the top tier under the bride and groom's cake, down. Instead of seeing crumb covered empty tiers, the remaining cake is a lovely thing that lasts longer than the wedding reception. People love taking pictures of it.

"We made our first cake for a bride who described something she'd seen at a bridal fair in another state. So, we looked into it and we found several different types but Zoe and I figured out how to do it better. We hired local folks to design the structure for the cake, which is where the real genius is, and it turned out great. Unfortunately for the company that had a similar type cake, we also figured out how to make it for a lot less, and that was the main problem. They sued us. But we didn't steal their design. We made our own. Our cake telescopes down, theirs is static."

"Why did they drop the lawsuit?"

"We showed them the video we'd produced for YouTube."

"YouTube?" Jesse laughed.

"Yes, you can look it up. Zoe posted it a few weeks ago. We'd videoed the cake as we set it up at the first wedding reception because we knew people would be interested in it, and how it was made. We weren't interested in was putting a patent on it. That's expensive, time-consuming and pointless, really. So we hired one of my son's National Guard friends to interview the mechanical engineer, the carpenter, the tool and die maker and the software guy, who made the structure and the gizmos that make it work, then they edited it together and we have a very professional 30 minute demonstration of a rose tiered wedding cake.

"We told the guys who worked on it we were doing that and none of them was interested in the patent process, either. Also we use a standard employment contract for that kind of creative work, so we were good. So now anyone with skills can make their own telescoping wedding cake. We'll sell more of them, too. Wedding cakes are a very competitive business, but it's only part of what we do. Mostly, Zoe and I just have fun. We enjoy making cakes."

"Good approach," Jesse complimented. "But, your beach home was broken into by a couple of guys connected to this. They weren't looking for cake in your wallet."

"They were looking for personal information. They were hired by the guy in New York who brought the lawsuit. That was further encouragement for him to drop the suit when my attorney made his attorney aware of that. I'm sorry to have wasted your time, Jesse. CrossAxe will be happy to pay you for—"

"Not necessary. Sam's already taken care of that."

Amanda glanced over to where her husband had been standing, listening without comment. Michael was next to him. She met Sam's gaze, then looked away. When his phone rang, he answered. "Yeah, Raines."

He waved a finger and then left the apartment, closing the front door behind him.

"Sorry I wasted your time, Amanda," Jesse said. "I'll try not to do that again."

"Please don't think that; you couldn't have known."

"I'll be heading home then. See you guys later."

He left the documents with Amanda who was folding them together.

Michael debated and then glanced over to her. "Do you mind me asking why Sam didn't know anything about the lawsuit?"

"Because he didn't want to." Her voice was quiet.

He frowned. "That doesn't sound like Sam."

"I don't know," she said slowly, "what Sam _should_ sound like. He is half of CrossAxe and he doesn't want it, but without him, it wouldn't exist."

Michael realized this was clearly falling into the realm of Sam and Amanda's very private life, and he did not want to interfere or say anything with the potential for misunderstanding, or adding a layer of stress she didn't need.

Amanda looked up to Michael. "A long time ago, his parents died in a fire. He was 20. I had just turned 18, and we hadn't been married long. Where he'd been with the SEALs, his aunt couldn't contact him. He didn't find out his parents died until he got back from wherever he'd been. He came home to see their graves. I never met them," she explained with a soft, low voice. "Sam used his entire inheritance to buy my family's property before it could be sold for taxes, and then he paid another year's taxes and titled it so that either of us . . . well, he made it easy to take care of it while he was gone. So that's what I did. I took care of it."

"And his son," Michael said softly.

"And _our _son," Amanda said just as quietly, as her eyes flashed to his. "_Our son_."

She put her hands across her belly and closed her eyes briefly. "Our property. Our business."

And that was the problem, Michael realized as an axe split his heart in the spot that he'd previously wounded himself with his inability to understand the warrior woman who was now his wife. _Our_ was a pronoun that held a wealth of meaning.

It didn't mean relinquishing masculinity to use it. Once, he'd thought exactly that.

Until Sam understood, there wasn't a thing he could say to him.

Until Sam understood it, no one could help him understand.

Now all he could do was silently wish the best for them. Or do what Sam's SEAL friend, Father Hector advised and say a prayer for them. It was the least he could do for a friend and his wife and his family.

#

#

#

Sam's phone wouldn't shut up.

As he walked back into the Westens' apartment , he took the call from Sheldon Dunham.

The alarm on his face must have shown because Amanda was watching him with laser-guided interest as he came through the front door. And so was Michael.

Sheldon was explaining how Sam had gotten hurt breaking up a fight between two of his Guard friends at the warehouse, and that the altercation ended with police involvement.

The result was that Sam and another man were both injured, and both were in the hospital. The soldier who attacked them might have been on drugs, Sheldon said. He wanted to know how soon Amanda and Sam could come home to help with the children, especially the baby, because Zoe needed to be with her husband.

"We'll be there as soon as we can get there, Shel."

Sam turned back to Amanda and glanced at Mike to report what Sheldon had said.

"We need to go home, Manda. Sam's in the hospital. He has a concussion and a broken arm and some other minor stuff. I don't know about the other guy who was hurt. It happened at the warehouse. We need to go home."

He left the room to find his bag with the information he needed to arrange for their flight home.

After Sam's comment about hospitals last night, Amanda was worrying about what was going through her husband's head right now.

"Last night he told me how tired he was of hospitals and people he cared about being in them," Amanda said.

As she got up from the chair, Michael touched her shoulder. "Promise me you'll call if you need our help when you get back."


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

#

#

#

"Manda?"

"Sam, this happens. Just not to us, to everyone. There are times when everyone is well, healthy and happy and all is good. And sometimes it's not like that. But it's normal. Please stop worrying so much."

"But—"

"David was exposed to Agent Orange when he was in Vietnam, and there are—"

"All kinds of cancers and organ failure and—"

She put a soft hand on his shoulder. It was rock hard and full of tension. He'd been talking about David being in the hospital. Amanda had listened him overreact, and told him he was over-reacting.

"I don't like losing friends, Amanda—new ones or old ones. It feels the same."

Mentally, she groaned when he proved her point then missed it.

"Yes, and that's why he's getting the kind of check-up that requires a short hospital stay. He does this every year, Sam. Some years he's healthier than others. This isn't one of those years. Please don't go in there with your sad puppy dog face. It'll worry Dee."

He glanced down to her and scowled. "I do not have a puppy dog face."

"You know what I meant."

"Maybe," he acquiesced.

"So, I'm fine here. The kids are sleeping. Go see David and say hi for me, and tell Sam I'll come by tomorrow, if they keep him another day, that is."

"They'd better. He's not ready to come home."

"You've picked up a medical degree since we came home, Dr. Axe?"

"That's not funny."

"Yes, it is," she said with a smile.

They'd returned from Miami to find their son in surgery. The nature of the shattered bones in his arm required additional repair, and no one was happy about that—not Sam's children, not his wife, not his father-in-law or, most especially, not his father.

As his mother, Amanda had a pragmatic approach.

Sam had broken his left arm when he was seven, his collarbone when he was eleven, and when he was sixteen, he'd damaged his right knee so badly during football practice, it needed surgical repair. Six months later, during which his knee had been immobilized by three different casts, he began grouching his way through three months of rehab. The healing process was completed and he was fine.

He'd be fine now, too. Mother and son were in complete agreement on this one.

Amanda and Sam had been staying in the guest room at Sam and Zoe's home, caring for their grandchildren. Sam was dealing with the boys; Amanda had the pleasant joy of caring for their baby granddaughter.

She had visited Sam at the hospital earlier in the day while Zoe was home, but he'd been sleeping at the time. She stood by his bed and studied his whiskered face, so similar to his father's, while her heart could see him as he'd been years earlier. Her sweet boy had become a man, and she was proud of him. She left him with a kiss on his cheek and wrote him a note and left it on the book he'd been reading.

She'd had a couple of errands she needed to accomplish without Sam's overly attentive assistance, so she took care of them before returning to allow Zoe and Sam to go to the hospital.

Part of her was struggling with her husband's over-attentiveness and part of her appreciated it. But mostly, she felt smothered by Sam's attentions since they'd returned from Miami more than a week ago.

It was an unhealthy attentiveness, and he could switch gears in the blink of an eye from one person to another.

Like now. From David to her in a half second. "Are you—?"

She repeated her newly developed mantra. "I'm fine."

"Are—"

He needed to be interrupted, so she interrupted him, gently, with a quiet, soft, slow voice.

"I am not tired. I am not feeling dizzy. I have eaten properly. I have taken medication prescribed for me at the times I should have taken it. I have been hydrating. Over hydrating. Now go. Drive safely."

"So you're feeling okay?"

Inwardly, she took a deep breath. Outwardly, she smiled. "Yes."

He looked as if he wanted to say something more, but she turned to put her arms around his waist and rested her head on his chest. "Please, Sam, stop worrying so much."

He put his arms around her and she felt his cheek rest briefly on top of her head.

When he didn't say anything, she pushed away from him and looked up into dark brown eyes that retained more than a hint of stubbornness. He was about to say something but she put a finger to his lips and then reached to gently pull his head down to hers for a kiss.

"Go see Sam. Tell him I love him. I love you, too."

As he left, she could see Diesel at the door, pacing, pressing his head against the glass, watching as Sam drove his truck out of the driveway. Since they were staying at Sam and Zoe's house, Diesel had been banished to the porch, and it was a fine banishment for a dog with two coats of fur who preferred cold weather.

But the dog wasn't dealing well with being separated from Sam. He gave Amanda as pitiful a look as she'd ever seen from him, and then she realized she'd seen that same sad expression recently on her husband's face when he didn't think she was watching him.

Diesel would be fine. She wished she could say the same thing about Sam.

#

#

#

When he stopped into see Sam, the room was full of guys from his Guard unit and several women who could have been wives or soldiers. He said hello, then excused himself to see David Pence who was in a room on the next floor up.

David was by himself, flipping channels on the TV when Sam arrived. The hospital gown he'd been wearing yesterday had been replaced by a Carolina blue UNC T-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts. The leg he'd lost above the knee was bandaged and the bandage was stained, the way a draining wound stained gauze. His other leg was muscular, but deformed by too many surgical repairs. His bare arms were scarred, and he could see the scar on his face continued down his neck and probably on his chest.

Sam zeroed in on the bandage. He'd watched Mike deal with similar wounds. "What happened there?"

David caught the direction of Sam's gaze and shrugged. "One of the annoying things about having a piece of shrapnel in your body for decades is that it's often better to leave it there. This is the last one that's worked its way out. I'm looking forward to being upright again."

"Upright?"

"Prosthetically upright. Haven't been able to use my leg for most of the last year."

"Yeah? That'd be good. How you feeling?"

"I'm fine. How's Sam?"

"He looks good. He's got a room full of people from his unit in there."

Dee slipped through the door then, carrying two cups of coffee. She greeted Sam then took a cup to David, set hers on the tray table by his bed so she could remove her coat, and asked about Sam.

He repeated the information for her and looked at David again. "You're really doing okay?"

Dee laughed at him. "You worrier. He's fine, besides nothing bad is going to happen. He can't die before me. He promised."

Sam glanced between them. Dee smiled. "We have a pre-nup," she said. "What else would two lawyers do before they get married? Besides have children, of course."

Sam seemed taken back by the twist of conversation.

Interestingly, David actually seemed embarrassed.

Dee sighed. "He signed his rights away to dying first before we were married, and if you're interested, I'm feeling fine."

"We have a pre-nup agreement," David repeated.

Sam couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You have a pre-nuptial agreement about dying?"

"Yes," Dee said.

"It's a simple contract. I only had to agree not to die before Dee. If you don't believe me, ask Amanda. She was one of our witnesses."

"His mother signed it, too," Dee added.

Sam didn't seem able to pick-up on the subtext of their conversation.

"The point is, I signed it, and I've been doing my best to keep that promise," David said. "That's why we're here for the annual check-up. And this damned thing, of course," he indicated his bandaged leg.

"It took him a long time to sign it," Dee said, directing her comment to Sam. "It made the six years it took me to convince him to marry me worth it. Of course, we had two kids by then and I _was expecting the twins_."

Sam glanced at David.

"True," David said. "All true."

#

#

#

When she'd stopped at The Cakery this morning to talk to the mother and daughter who would take over many Cakery responsibilities for the next several months, she'd been delayed because they'd proposed becoming part-owners in the business. This was a conversation that needed to include Zoe, she'd explained, but she let them know she wasn't opposed to it.

Life had changed.

Her personal situation was about to change even more. If she forgot, all she had to do was wait for one of her twins to kick, and kick they did. She wouldn't be able to devote as much time to The Cakery as she'd done before, not with two babies.

Amanda had another matter to attend to before she would return to Zoe and Sam's house.

She'd found the prayer card Sam's priest friend gave her that day at the hospital in Miami and pulled her cell phone from her pocket to save his number to her directory. Now he was between F for Fiona and J for Jesse.

It was one of the gifts Fiona had given her: phone numbers. She'd spent several minutes inserting every one of Sam's Miami friends' phone numbers on Amanda's cell phone after she'd learned Sam hadn't already done that.

"Ridiculous," Fiona said as she saved Amanda's phone number and added Zoe, Sam and Sheldon to her own phone before she tapped in the Miami names and phone numbers into Amanda's directory. "You're one of us. Now you can call when you need us."

She'd thanked Fiona for solidifying her connection to Sam's Miami family. If she needed any one of them, she knew how to get in touch now. She didn't take time to examine why that was so comforting.

Sheldon had told her the broad story of Sam's activities in the past. Michael added depth when he'd explained the significance the last project they completed, but she hoped it would be Father Hector who could provide the insight she needed for her husband.

The card with his phone number contained a prayer prayed daily in the church, the Prayer to Michael:

_Saint Michael, the Archangel, defend us in battle. Be our protection against _

_the wickedness and snares of the devil. May God rebuke him, we humbly pray;_

_O prince of the heavenly host, by the power of God thrust into hell Satan _

_and all evil spirits who wander through the world for the ruin of souls. _

_Amen._

Amanda was well aware of the prayer, and after getting to know Michael Westen better in Miami, she'd come to think he'd been appropriately named. He was still doing battle with the wicked after-effects of recovering his memories after dealing with ASD. She flipped the card over where it contained the address for Saint Ambrose Church, e-mail, website and mass times. However it'd been Father Hector's cell phone number she was calling. His phone went straight to voice mail so she left a message.

Fortunately, Sam had just left when he returned her call.

"Amanda, how good to hear from you," he said. "I have been thinking about you and your family. Michael and Fiona told me why you shortened your trip. I'm sorry we didn't have a chance to visit again while you were here."

She gave him a status report their son's injuries and surgery. "But that's not what I wanted to talk to you about."

It took her several moments to tell him about why she was worried about her husband's concerns for everyone around him.

"It's strange, watching him go into overdrive. He seems to have accepted that Michael will be fine, but he's got all of us here now to worry about. Also, one of our friends, our attorney, who has been in and out of a wheelchair since he was wounded in Vietnam, is in the hospital for his annual check-up. Sam is what I would call super concerned.

"He worries too much and I can't pull him back from it. Michael told me he talked with you a lot about PTSD and ASD and I've been reading some things about it. I wonder if Sam isn't dealing with something similar. I would like to talk to him about this, but . . ."

"He won't," Father Hector said. "That's not his way; it never has been."

"I'm probably looking for answers to questions that don't exist."

"Oh, I think your questions exist, Amanda, and I think your concerns are well-founded. Secondary caregivers struggle. Sam has been in my prayers for many months now, since he concluded the same operation that nearly took Michael's life. Please understand that I am not a psychologist or psychiatrist, but because of the volunteer work I do, I suspect Sam still suffers on several levels, perhaps survivor's guilt or something similar to what Michael deals with. I believe he's experienced that kind of pain in the past himself."

"Our son did, too, when he returned from Iraq. He's in the National Guard."

"Is your son doing well with that now?"

"Yes," Amanda said. "Really well. Our friend who's in the hospital helped him quite a bit."

"Then your son will be able to be help his father and you will have someone to talk to independently of them."

"I would like to be able to talk to Sam about this, though."

"I understand, but he may not do that. Now that I think about this" he said, pausing, "I may be able to provide a door for you. What's your mailing address?"

Amanda told him.

"Recently my mother sent me some things I wanted to share with Sam. I'll send them to you. And, Amanda? Please call me anytime you would like to talk."

#

#

#

Zoe's steps were as quick as the ice-patched pavement would allow her to make.

"I am not related to you except by marriage, so I didn't get my worry-wart gene from you," she told him as she held onto Sam's arm. "And I know you didn't give it to Sammy, so I want to know why you're fussing so much lately."

Hospital visiting hours were over. He was escorting her to her truck in the hospital parking lot. He'd parked right behind her two hours earlier.

Sam was sound asleep, doing well, being monitored. He was safe and healing. Not that his father was satisfied with that.

"Sammy had a broken arm before. Of course it was his opposite arm," Zoe said. "He used to hit me with that danged cast. Oh, no!" The bottom of her warm leather boot heel hit a small patch of ice on the parking lot pavement, and she would have landed on her bottom if Sam hadn't wrapped his arm around her waist to keep her upright.

"I just said, if it wasn't a problem, I could stay all night," he said, holding her truck door for her. "That's all I said. It was just a suggestion."

She stepped up to sit in the driver's seat then turned to look into Sam's face. "He's too old for you to be monitoring his sleep. In another couple of months, you'll be up all night with twins, so rest up."

When he looked inside to make sure she was seat-belted in, Zoe put her cold hands on either side of his face and looked straight into Sam's eyes and spoke slowly.

"Sammy's Daddy, you are taking worry-wartedness to a whole new level. You are stressing out. He'll be fine. I'm sorry Daddy called and scared you and Manda in Miami." She kissed his forehead. "And thank you for helping take care of our sweet babies. Stop fussing at her so much, okay? You've been on a worry roll, so please, please get off of it."

"Yes, ma'am, General Axe. Now you drive home real safe."

She flopped both hands over, palms up, pleading to some god above. "Oh, my gosh, yes. You'll be right behind me, remember? That's where you left Manda. You're staying at my house. _Remember_?"

With that she pulled her door and slammed it shut, then did one of those annoying four-finger girlie wave things Amanda did.

Sam took a deep breath as he followed her tail lights and thought, maybe he was over-reacting.

He had a sense of it; what he didn't have was control of it.

He needed to work on that. Because he was hearing about it, more and more.

First Amanda, then Zoe. Oh, and Dee, too.

Maybe he needed to work on that harder.

#

#

#

Three days later, a simple sturdy envelope addressed to Sam and Amanda Axe arrived in the mail. It contained photos and a note from Father Hector. And another prayer card to St. Michael.

"_Sam and Amanda—My mother recently sent me several of these items. Sam, I thought I would share these with you, since there are not that many of us left. Amanda may find these photos of interest as well. Christ's peace be with you, my friends. Hector"_

Amanda had been completely surprised when the envelope arrived. It had a resealable closure so she opened it and looked through the contents.

Seeing a photo of Sam in uniform thirty years ago nearly made her heart stop. She had to sit down. No wonder she couldn't keep her hands off him. It was still a problem.

The envelope was filled with photos.

Several were black and white, printed on glossy paper. Others were fading color prints on texturized photo paper. Snapshots of different sizes were mixed in with the formal, professional photos. It was a varied and interesting collection of images, especially for Amanda because almost all of them contained a photo of Sam.

After looking through the smaller candid photos, she turned to the photos with the official USN appearance. One was of a small group of men, of which Sam was one, being given awards. She turned it over to see if anything was on the back and found a typewritten note rubber-cemented to the photo paper.

It read: Silver Service Award Ceremony, and a date in 1980. The man she knew as Father Hector was sitting in a wheelchair; his leg was in a cast that encompassed his entire foot up and over his knee. Sam was next to him, also in a wheelchair but without a visible injury, and there were two other men in uniforms standing beside them.

If an award ceremony was a good thing, and worthy of official photography, then she might have expected the men in the photos to have a smile. Instead, they were grim, looking straight at the camera. They all looked so very young. Painfully young. Amanda didn't know much about the military in general, but she understood this seemed important. Surely, a soldier had to have done something brave to receive a silver service award.

She wondered if Sam would tell her who was in the photo and why they received awards.

The other 8 x 10 photos were also of awards ceremonies. But those had been taken later, according to the dates rubber stamped on the back. Then she realized how much time had elapsed as she shuffled through the photos again. His wedding ring was clearly visible in some photos and absent in others.

She touched her hand to her chest where his ring had spent so many years on a chain around her neck, above her heart, and gasped softly.

She hadn't expected the renewal of that pain, nor its ability to crush her again, but it slowed her heart beat to agonizing thumps in her chest. It would have been easy to blame the changing hormone levels in her body but she couldn't. There was a reason why tears suddenly flowed down her cheeks,

Last night was not the first night her husband had opened his arms for her in his sleep, locking her away from the sea monsters and dragon slayers that had begun to invade his restless dreams.

His nocturnal warfare began shortly after they returned from Miami. She knew he wasn't aware of it, but she was. Intensely, wakefully aware of the words she heard him say, the fear she understood, and the pain she knew was as real now as it had been when he'd first experienced it, whenever and wherever that had been.

She couldn't look at the images a moment longer. She gathered the photos and put them back in the envelope, carefully resealed the flap, and left it on top of the day's mail on the table.

Today, he had taken Sam to the warehouse for the afternoon. It would be weeks and weeks before their son would be able to drive, so Sam was providing transportation.

Maybe they could talk about this later when he came home, after dinner, when they were peaceful. And maybe they couldn't.

Maybe she couldn't.

That was because the mystery of why Sam had been away from home for more than two years could still weaken her ability to stand upright, to think clearly and to speak coherently, not when a few photographs held the power to refresh that wound.

The past was not past. Not yet.

#

#

#

David left the hospial first, then Sam. Now that they'd returned to their home, Amanda was savoring normal things.

She slid a freshly made waffle onto a cookie sheet and set it inside the oven to stay warm.

Sam was in the shower, and there was a pleasant early snowfall outside. The flakes were big, fat and dry, not sticking to things yet, and Diesel had enjoyed his morning romp but he was inside now. His favorite spot was in the kitchen, stretched out, content to block the draft coming under the kitchen door from the outside.

It was a thoroughly lovely morning. She felt safely encapsulated in her home, listening to her husband hum in the shower. She'd tried to figure out if he was actually humming a tune, but she hadn't deciphered it yet.

It was warm inside, and last night, Sam had been his cheerful self. It'd been easy to enjoy the evening and their discussions of names for their twins. He proposed that he should be the one to name both, but she insisted on final approval.

She'd given him thumbs down for Frank and Fergie, Justin and Justina, Mortimer and Morticia, Max and Maxine and Merry and Murgatroid. She told him he was going through the alphabet but got stuck on M. Badly stuck. He laughed.

He wasn't being serious, of course, and she knew why. He was deflecting and redirecting her. Last night she saw him pick up the envelope from Father Hector and peek inside and then set it down, address side down. He put a newspaper on top, as if to bury it in plain sight.

Maybe they would get back to that after breakfast.

She poured batter for one more waffle into the iron and turned on the burner under the tea kettle so she could have her decaffeinated tea. As she opened the door under the sink to toss the plastic packaging she removed from her new box of tea, she realized Sam had put the envelope with all the photos Father Hector had mailed in the trash can.

She stared at it for a moment.

That told a story.

She pulled it out, examined it, then put it inside the cupboard with the extra supplies of detergent and fabric softener in the laundry room.

Amanda needed her son to interpret all of this for her, not only the photos, but why he might have done that.

She didn't speak military, not the way he and Zoe did, and their son understood things very differently than she did. Of course, finding time alone with her son these days was hard to do, because his father was still in mother hen mode, even if he'd tamped it down.

With the last waffle finished, she warmed the maple syrup, then poured out the hot water warming her small teapot to replace it with fresh and a teabag.

Sam stepped up behind her to wrap his arms around her and kiss the nape of her neck.

"Mmmm. This is sooo good."

"What is so good?"

"You, me, warm inside, cold outside."

She knew her smile went all the way to her heart as she turned around in his arms. "You're in a good mood."

"I slept well. Didn't you?"

"Always, especially when you help keep the twins quiet. I hope that works the same way after they're born."

"Why wouldn't it?"

"That's a good question. This is new to me, too, Sam. Hungry?"

He grinned, wickedly. She laughed, and they sat down to enjoy their breakfast.

"Any more twin names?" she wondered once they'd finished eating.

He got out of his chair, crouched down next to her and took both of her hands in his. "How about Emily and Ethan?" He kissed her baby belly then and put his hands there, warm against her.

She felt big tears instantly form in the corner of her eyes, and she inhaled deeply. "My father and your mother? That's perfect. What made you think of them?" she was trying to wipe her tears away, but they were coming too quickly to be successful at that.

"The wall of photos you have at CrossAxe. I told David I would come by this morning so he could begin his, ah, instructions."

"Instructions?"

"I'm sorry, Manda. Spending so much time with our grandkids, made me realize I need to step up and help you, but before I can do that with CrossAxe, I need to understand it better. David has been there from the beginning. He said he'll help, so I'm going there this morning if that's okay with you. I'm sure you can answer what David can't."

Amanda felt as if he'd just lifted, with ease, the two tons of weight she'd been crushed under, weight that had grown even heavier with his self-imposed ignorance of what the business had become. The weight of that had oppressed her heart and bound her hands.

She'd never intended it for the business to have grown the way it had; she'd never intended the level of success they had attained. It had been a fluke of technology and economy, a perfect and accidental convergence of need, time and her instant decision to never sell the land Sam had purchased with his inheritance. Had she done anything differently, it wouldn't have been as successful.

He looked away from her then and rose. "I told you about the reputation I'd had in Miami, and you got to see some of that for yourself with that waitress stunt. I . . ."

She came to stand behind him as he looked outside, and put her arms around his middle. "You're talking about the Sam Axe who likes to date rich women."

"Yeah. I'm not very proud of that."

"You should let that go, Sam."

"Still—"

She stepped in front of him and looked up into his face. "Let's not act like dumb newlyweds here. Okay?"

He looked down and lowered his head to give her a kiss sweetly laced with maple syrup and coffee. "Okay."

Names for her children and a husband who wanted to learn about their family business. Some mornings were just full of surprises.

Even the one hiding in the laundry room cupboard.

Sam hadn't been gone for more than 40 minutes when Amanda stopped in the middle of the last kitchen chore, wiping her stove top clean.

He'd been deflecting her. Again. Magnificently. What a skill.

Perfect family names for their children.

Promises to help with CrossAxe and learn more about their family business.

Just what she needed.

She'd been getting too close.

That was the problem. So he fixed it.

He'd given her what she wanted . . . and ignored what she wanted.

She reached for her phone.

#

#

#

Sam sat at the desk in his warehouse and looked at the envelope his mother placed in front of him.

"What's this about?"

"A lot of things. Your father threw that away this morning. I retrieved it from the trash. Now it's yours. Will you tell me what you see when you look at what's inside?"

"Where's Dad? Why are you here by yourself?"

"Your father is with David. And I am here by myself because I am a fully competent adult, capable of driving to where I want to go. In a safe vehicle, of course."

Sam winced. "Okay, Ma. Sorry."

"I'm having trouble communicating that idea to your father." Just then one or both of her babies thumped her hard, inside out. She took a deep breath then sat down slowly in the chair next to Sam's desk.

She caught his gaze. "You've had three children. You know this is normal."

"Sorry."

"Yes. You've been acting more and more like him lately. I'm not crazy about that."

"What does that mean?"

"It's what Diesel does when he goes into his super-protect mode."

"There might be a reason for that," Sam said slowly looking down to the envelope.

"I think so, too. I've been reading up. You have some form of PTSD; your father has it, too. Delayed onset, for him, I am guessing. I know David helped you. I believe you are still working through that. From what I know, which isn't much, dealing with it is a lifelong process that soldiers have been dealing whenever wars end and soldiers come home. I don't think I'm capable of helping your dad, maybe David or . . ."

Left unsaid was the word "you." Amanda studied her son.

She'd finally corralled all the thoughts that had been running rampant through her head, and latched the gate. Now she could see what she was looking at, and she didn't want to burden her son with this, but she did want his help—a small amount.

"You've been talking to Zoe."

"No. We don't do that. I've been using the computer and reading up."

Sam held his mother's gaze then looked down to the envelope and opened it. He flipped through the photos and frowned when he got to the black and white photo. She watched as he turned it over then looked back up to his mother.

"Dad has a silver star?"

"I don't know. Does he? Is that what that is?"

"This looks like it. This guy has one, too." He turned the image around and pointed to the soldier she now knew as Father Hector Famosa Garcia.

"I've heard of the Silver Star, but I don't know what it means except I understand it's important."

"Ah, well, it's an award for valor. The third highest the military gives. It's given for gallantry in action against an enemy, and the people who get them have distinguished themselves for extraordinary heroism." He looked at the back of the photo again. "This was taken in 1980. I was two. Look—Dad's wearing a wedding ring. You were still married."

Amanda knew her son had always thought of himself as the child his father left behind on purpose. A child of divorce even though there had been none.

Sam had been a teenager before he demanded to know more about his father, but despite what she explained, that his father didn't know about him, Sam felt abandoned. She knew it'd been complicated by his and Zoe's estranged relationship while they were in high school and college.

"Your dad had been gone more than two years then. I didn't know where he was and the Navy wouldn't tell me. What else do you see in the pictures?"

At that moment, one of the younger men knocked on the door to Sam's office and opened it. "We have a problem, Sam. Vetter wants to put up some damned posters."

"Tell her no."

"I did, but . . ."

"I'll be right there." Sam looked over to his mother. "Give me a minute, all right?"

The warehouse was open two stories to a ceiling with skylights. The lower level and the floor above it were ringed by offices. Sam had claimed the brightly lit room at the top of the stairs, previously a supervisor's office when the plant had been a cabinet factory. He thumped down the grated metal steps and went to a woman holding a rolled poster, then walked with her to the opposite side of the room.

She had served as an information tech specialist in his unit. Amanda had seen the woman before when she'd been to the warehouse to see what Sam had done to the space. She stood by the window looking down on the area and watched Sam as he talked to the woman. He'd stood and looked at her poster and then rolled it up for her and handed it back to her. She smiled, and put her arms around his waist, while he held the cast on his arm out and away from her. She gave him a hug which he returned.

Amanda watched as he leaned down and looked into her face. She could tell he was asking if she was okay. She nodded then handed him the poster and went over to sit by one of the laptops.

"What was that about?" Amanda wondered when Sam returned.

"You'll notice the only signage here is mine and there's a reason for that. I need to keep the words and noise tamped down here. So no music either. There are a lot of great posters veterans' support groups produce and there are plenty the VA uses, but this isn't the VA. This is just a place for friends to be friends. And that poster would have done more harm than good here. It said 'He had your back. Do you have his?' I can think of several guys in this unit who can't deal with losing a friend yet, because they think they didn't do their job well enough to prevent that, and even if they did, someone died, or . . ."

"So that message would do more harm than good. The woman who brought it, is she okay?"

"Her husband just left her and took their kids with him. She's been drinking. It's a problem."

"So the poster was something she needed her husband to see," Amanda said.

"Yes." Sam inhaled, relaxed a little and sat down. "Do you understand my policy? I like it simple. Simple works."

Amanda glanced down at the photos scattered on top of his desk. Her son's followed hers and he sat back in his chair and started picking up photos, one by one, examining them much more slowly than she had. As he set each one down he reached for another.

She took the seat across from his desk and waited.

When he looked up to his mother, there was a sheen of tears in his eyes. "I was trying to figure out how old I was when some of these were taken, and where he was."

"You'll have to ask him then."

"He threw these in the trash?"

"Yes. But I'd looked at them already so I knew what they were. That's why I pulled them out."

Sam looked across the desk to her, his jaw squared. "Did he throw us away, Mom?"

"Yes," she said slowly as she met his dark blue gaze, "and no. He didn't understand some things and neither did I. I don't think he meant to, but I also think there's a lot I don't know yet."

"Do you really believe that, Mom, or are you just being my mother? Trying to protect me from something?"

"I know your father and I share the regret for what we both did. For our years apart. I haven't been able to protect you for a long time, Sam. I wish I understood what happened from the time he left and I found out I was pregnant until the time he returned. He was gone for more than two years. It seemed like—"

When the door opened behind them and Amanda's husband and Sam's father walked in, the moment was a slice of theatre with two slightly guilty pairs of eyes landing on Sam's smiling face.

His expression quickly slid into a quizzical glance until he saw what was scattered on his son's desk. He straightened his spine as if coming to attention and glanced between his wife and son before resting a tense, angry gaze on Amanda. "I threw those away."

"I retrieved them since the envelope was addressed to me, too."

"And she gave them to me. Now they're mine. Can we talk about these, Dad?"

Amanda had the very clear impression that her husband wanted to leave the room and move as far and as fast away from the photos as he could. Instead, he appeared to brace himself.

She stood, and realized she was being ignored by her husband and son.

"I'm leaving. I need to see Zoe. We have some Cakery business to discuss. I'll see you later, Sam. And Sam."

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He was riding a roller coaster, and he couldn't get off.

Sam was having a hard time figuring out who pushed the START button.

It was either Mike or Hector.

If he wanted to trace the history of fault, he could track it to Mike's burn notice and, ultimately, Anson.

But Hector sent those damned photos, and there was no way to put that genie back in the bottle, so yeah. It was his friend, the priest's fault.

Sam dropped his head.

Or it was his own fault. It could have been any time before Hector left the service and sometime after his self-destructing assignment in Columbia.

If he wanted to return to the roots of his problem, it'd bring him right back here. To this lookout, over this valley with the same old gray and blue mountains standing at watch, where the stone walls saw him gulp down an entire bottle of alcohol trying to kill the memories he had, and the personal betrayals he believed he had.

Why in the hell couldn't he make sense of anything?

He'd parked, let Diesel out and walked past the area where most visitors stopped to take their photos and remembered where he'd been when he'd consumed that bottle of applejack. There was concrete picnic table here now. The one he'd sat at then had been made from wood, and it'd been chained to the concrete pad.

He'd been here a lifetime ago. Sam's lifetime ago. Of course, he didn't know about Sam because he hadn't stayed around long enough to find out about him.

Once he saw Amanda, once he saw Mack—if he'd been capable of rational thought, and it was doubtful now—rational thought ceased. The outlet he didn't know he needed erupted with a furious need to hit something. A door. His friend.

It was probably a good thing for everyone he left when he did. Because he'd been completely out of control.

And, it was also probably a good thing he didn't come back. Not then. Because it took him a long time to regain control. A couple of years.

And when he regained control, he latched on to it with an iron grip and he didn't let go. He wouldn't let go because he couldn't. He'd mummified every soft, tender emotion he'd once possessed and birthed new ones—the cynical, the humorous, the witty.

Cynicism, sarcasm, wit and humor helped him function so much better than his buddies who couldn't move past the anger, the depression or the morose absorption in what made them angry or depressed.

Fact was, he knew a lot of guys who did what he did. And he was good at it. If he practiced being cynical and humorous and witty, he won. He didn't lose.

He maintained control.

Alcohol helped. A lot of alcohol helped more. He needed it to function. They all needed it to function.

And it still worked that way.

He knew the words: High functioning ability. One of the AA 12 steppers told him he'd never fix his problem because he'd never recognize it. _High functioning._ He was fine with that. He had it in spades. It made him an effective SEAL.

It was a good thing, because that was all he had.

He had nothing else.

Nothing.

He didn't have a wife or a family or a home or parents. He had the Navy. He had a job; he had opportunity to advance. He made his teams his family.

If his heart hadn't already been damaged by those back to back missions where he'd lost most of his team members, then the destruction had been completed when he found Mack and Amanda together.

The tenuous hold he'd kept over the roiling emotions he'd been able to tamp down snapped.

He'd snapped.

He started drinking that bottle of applejack before the tears came, and when they started, they wouldn't stop. He found his way up the hill above the lookout, to hide his presence in the shadows of the forest. He'd sat there and cried like a baby, as silently as he could manage, for hours. The day grew dark and then all the light left. He'd finished the bottle and as soon as he did, he'd vomited until he couldn't stand.

And then he cried some more.

By the time the sun came up the next morning, he was feeling raw but stable. He made himself a promise then. That was the last time tears would cross Sam Axe's face.

And it was. Until the day at the loft when Mike found the envelope with the note Maddie had saved from Fiona.

He watched as Mike discovered it propped next to that dead orchid. He watched as he read it and watched as he finally remembered her. He watched as he looked down to his hand and saw his wedding ring. And then he watched his friend slump into one of the stools and put his head in his hands and weep.

Sam absolutely could not stay in the same room and listen to Mike's agonizing sobbing because he was losing control himself. He could feel it slipping. So the soldier who sat on that Blue Ridge hill in the dark and vowed that he would never cry another tear, had to leave the loft. He went outside and sat on the steps and felt the first tear that crossed his face in more than thirty years. He brushed away the second and third tears.

He'd kept it under control then.

But later that night, after Mike had found his way back to Fiona, Sam had been at the loft alone. He'd sat on the deck in the dark with a beer and felt the release of the anxieties and pain that he'd locked away for so many years.

Once he started, he couldn't stop. But he had things under control by the next day. He got a haircut, a shave, and food and mojitos at Carlito's. Later that evening, he found some sweet, free companionship and then he was better.

Mostly better.

A couple more tears found their way into his eyes when Michael Gabriel was born. He fit right in with everyone else then.

A few more arrived that first night Jacob and Noah crawled up into his lap and snuggled down to watch cartoons while Sheldon fixed dinner. That was the first night he was completely aware that he had a family. Not someone else's family. _His family_.

He hadn't really started losing control until Amanda had been in the freakish accident she and their unborn children miraculously survived, but she hadn't seen his tears then. He'd been able to hide them. No, things didn't really get out of hand until they'd returned to Miami and they'd made another trip to the hospital.

He'd been fine until that night she discovered his tears, and sweetly kissed them away, and told him not to worry.

He hadn't been fine since then.

He'd fallen into a snake hole, and he was afraid of what he'd find down the next curve. What kind of fanged creature hiding in his subconscious would he startle into defending itself with poison?

When Diesel head-butted his shoulder he turned and wrapped his arm around the big, muscular dog. He'd been sitting on top of the picnic table too long. It was time to go.

Sam found himself looking at the indicator on the amount of gas in the Tahoe's tank, checking his wallet for cash and turning off his phone.

He needed big, safe water.

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"Is your dad still there?" Amanda asked. "Supper's ready."

"No. He's not there?"

"The last time I saw him was at the warehouse," Amanda told her son.

"Is he at Sheldon's?"

"No, and he isn't at David's, either."

"He had Diesel with him."

"I know. They're both missing."

"Mom, hey, I'll call Shel and have him—"

"No, honey. Don't do that. I think I where he's gone. And I'm going there, too."

"Where?"

"Big, safe water."

Sam paused. "Just bring him back, okay?"


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

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Diesel's keen senses found her before she'd trudged halfway over the last dune that led down to the beach.

He galumphed through loose sand to circle her and nudged her legs with his nose and wagged his entire body, all the while gently pushing her north. She stopped worrying about where Sam was now; even if she couldn't see him, her dog would lead her to him.

Icy cold and windy, the waves were high, breaking crisply. The tide was rising. The beach was deserted, but in the distance, a few brave souls could be seen as small specks on the research pier. Gray sky, gray horizon—all the summer colors were faded, their brightness bleached by the distant angle of the sun.

If one chose not to believe in a higher power, the ocean was correcting that erroneous assumption, loudly. It roared with ferocity, and enormous waves cascaded in a systematic rush, each a bigger and louder statement than the one before it.

Kneeling down, she put her arms around her big dog's neck and hugged him and told him what a good dog he was and ruffled his fur and stroked his massive head. He responded by energetically sniffing the jacket she wore and nudging her.

The safety yellow windjacket belonged to Sam. She'd found it in his closet at home and brought it as well as her pink dragon ski cap and mittens. His jacket was the only garment large enough to cover her pregnant form and the layers of clothing she knew she'd be wearing. It was only common sensible to be wearing insulated and waterproof outerwear on the beach at this time of the year, and then there was the fact that wearing his jacket gave her the sense of his arms being around her after it was zipped up with both too long sleeves rolled up and Velcro-taped shut.

There were tears in her eyes, either from the wind whipping around her or the emotion pouring out now that Diesel was here. She latched on to his collar and let him take her where she needed to go.

Sam didn't see her or hear her, and when she sat down next to him, she knew she'd startled him. There were tears in his eyes, but she ignored them and assumed he'd return the favor.

"I couldn't sleep without you," she said by way of explanation to the question he didn't ask.

He opened his arms and reached to pull her close to him, next to him. She knew he must have been sitting in the cold for a very long while because his body seemed cold all over which would mean his core body heat was dissipating.

Diesel must have known it, too, because he planted himself directly in front of them, a soft, warm fur rug and windblock. His dark nose tilted up in the air as he scanned the horizon, and his ears lifted slightly, listening, alert and ready to protect them from sea wolves and other dangerous beasts.

Sam hugged her tightly and put his cold, cold cheek next to her much warmer cheek. "You shouldn't be here," he said, not looking at her.

She turned until she could look fully into his dark, troubled eyes. "I lost you once. I can't lose you again."

"You don't . . ."

He didn't finish what he'd been about to say and she didn't ask. Instead she moved closer to him, hoping to infuse her body's warmth into his, wrapping her mittened hands around his bare hands. She could feel his legs were cold through his jeans, his hands, his cheek, his ear. He didn't have a hat, just a windjacket, so she knew he'd been losing body heat, and more rapidly than she would.

Once he was a prepared and rugged warrior on water and land, but he was fighting something invisible now and he wasn't taking care of himself. She'd give him a few more minutes before she enlisted Diesel's help. She was concerned; Sam needed to be warmer. And soon.

Diesel lost patience. He got up from his spot and started circling them, nudging Sam's shoulder with his nose.

"Why does he do that?" Sam asked. "He's been . . ."

"He's an old breed Pyrenees, a true herding dog. He wants us to go back. He senses something. Maybe the babies," Amanda lied. Or, she thought, he might sense as she did, that her husband could be dangerously near hypothermia.

She held on to his hand as she stood, and he held hers. They began to walk back the way she'd come, Diesel right behind them. When she stuck her hand in the side pocket of the windjacket she'd taken from his closet, she was silently overjoyed to discover a folded black watch cap; she pulled it out and handed it to him. He put it on.

Twenty minutes later they were back at the house. Sam unlocked the door and Diesel stood outside waiting. Amanda motioned for him to come in, and he did, politely, because he roll-shook the sand from his coat on the deck before he stepped inside.

She scratched his ears when he came inside. "Good dog, good memory," she praised him for remembering the last time he was here with her.

When she turned back she saw Sam at the stove. She'd brought soup from home and had put it on a low simmer before she'd left the house to find him.

When she realized Sam's phone was off last night, she's called Sheldon and asked him to find her husband. "I know you can track these things, even if they're not on, so please, Shel? I don't want to drive the wrong way." Sheldon fussed at her for not trusting her instinct, but he'd done as she'd asked and located Sam's phone exactly where Amanda thought he'd be. The last time they were here, he'd told her about his need for big, safe water. Instinctively, she understood the connection to the time he was a SEAL, and that was enough.

His response to seeing the photos, both at home and at Sam's office were what sent him back to the water, and she couldn't deal with that or the possibility that he might keep on traveling. She'd spent her evening preparing for her trip and then trying to sleep. Her body and her babies needed rest, but she needed their father.

It was dark, and hours before dawn, when she left and she was grateful to have arrived while it was still light, and grateful they could return to the house before night fell. After closing the door behind Diesel, she took turned on lamps in the great room to combat the growing darkness.

She wondered when the last time Sam had eaten.

She'd brought food and supplies for several days from home and wasn't surprised to find the kitchen was as empty as they'd left it six weeks earlier. She wondered where he'd slept, too. Maybe on the couch, but she'd brought sheets and blankets and an electric mattress pad from home. She planned on sleeping with her husband in a bed tonight.

Right now, though, Sam and Diesel needed sustenance. She ladled homemade vegetable beef soup in a bowl for Sam and sliced bread for him. Then she found her dog's food and water bowls under the sink and ladled soup on top of a couple of slices bread for him, stirred to cool it and set it on an elevated footstool for him to eat. A short while later, man and dog were fed.

And silent.

Sam was finished before she could get started. She asked if he wanted more but he shook his head no and brought his soup bowl and spoon from the island counter to the sink. When he stopped behind her to wrap his arms around her and kiss her temple and whispered "thank you." His body still felt cold.

"I'll start the fire if you want to take a hot shower," she suggested.

He turned her carefully toward him, put his arms around her,kissed her forehead and then left the room. She heard the vent fan and the shower, and was thankful she'd bought clothes along for him and had left them in the bedroom.

The house had central air, but heat could only be provided by the fireplace. She and Zoe had insisted on installing the built in sunlamp heat units in the bathrooms for the occasions they used the house in colder weather, so she was thankful Sam would have that to help warm him.

She retrieved a flashlight from a kitchen drawer, relieved to see the batteries functioned. Opening the fireplace flue, she crossed her fingers and took a quick peek up the chimney with the light. She wouldn't be starting a fire if a bird had built a nest there. It was clear, so she dug out three of the compressed wood logs she'd brought, adjusted the flue and lit the logs. They started quickly, burned clean, hot and lasted eight hours, long enough to warm the great room and provide a pleasant atmosphere.

She finished her small bowl of soup, stored what remained and turned on the burner under the tea kettle. Then she dug around in her purse for the medication she was supposed to take and took it. When she turned around, Sam was there. Waiting. She reached for two mugs and handed them to him.

"Want to sit by the fire?" he asked.

She smiled and nodded.

Watching as he moved the sofa and the low table closer to the fireplace she brought the teapot and the small box of cookies that had been an afterthought and carried them to the table. Diesel, who could smell an oatmeal cookie through vacuum sealed plastic, appeared and thumped his large fluffy tail on the wood floor.

If a dog could smile, Diesel was smiling at them. Waiting for his well-deserved cookie. Amanda grinned. How could he be refused? She glanced at Sam and was relieved to see him smiling at the dog, too.

He fed the cookie to Diesel who ate it one delicate nibble at a time, without risking fingers. When Diesel looked for more, Sam shook his head no and the dog moved away from the fire, turned in a circle and laid down. Amanda glanced over to find Diesel looking at her, as if to tell her it was her watch now because he was taking a nap.

Sam poured their tea and handed her a cup, then took a cookie to have with his tea. Finally, he settled back into the couch, resting comfortably next to her. Their twins grew active with elbows and feet and bumps as her baby belly visibly moved through the knit fabric of her shirt.

They were either playing soccer or fighting with each other. She took a deep breath and reached for his hand. "Please, Sam."

He put his mug down and used both hands on her baby tummy then bent his head to kiss them. Slowly, they quieted. When he looked back at Amanda, tears were dripping down her cheeks.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly, clearly concerned.

"I don't think every father . . . can do that," she said, brushing her face.

He closed his eyes and settled back into the couch. They sat together with Amanda snuggled under his arm, her head tucked between his cheek and his shoulder, her hand across his middle, his hand across hers and their babies.

He wanted to talk to her, but his words were trapped inside, knotted together, row after row after row of them, looping into each other until there were so many of them it took two hands to grasp them all.

He didn't know why God sent Amanda to him so many years ago, or by what miracle it was that she was still here and still his, but he knew the first words he needed to find had to be the simple ones of thankfulness for the gifts he'd been given, gifts he wasn't aware were his a year ago.

How could she know that at the moment she appeared today, how much he needed her? And this? The food, clothing, bedding—all the things a loving woman might think of. He wanted to tell her about the conversation he and Sam had; he wanted to tell her about what he and Hector two friends who weren't with them any longer had done once, and why he'd been away for so long so long ago.

He wanted his son to understand if he'd been here then, when he was a child, a boy—he wouldn't want to speak to him now. He feared he would have done what so many battle-damaged men did, and he would have hurt the softest things, the most easily hurt things. Maybe, just maybe, it'd been better for Amanda and Sam that he wasn't there.

And maybe he was completely wrong about that, too.

On the drive to the beach house, he found himself thinking about the amazing the power of alcohol. And it was amazing. When frequently applied, had the power to not only fade memory, but it gave him the power to rewrite his own history.

Then, when he stopped drinking it, he grew clear enough that he could finally confront the past and renew his acquaintance with truth. That moment hadn't arrived until he'd returned North Carolina. To Amanda.

He finally came face to face with what he had lost, and until he found them—his wife, his son—he didn't understand the extent of that loss.

There was Amanda, who appealed to him in every single way a woman could ever appeal to him and as no other woman could. And Sam, a grown man, a son any man could be proud of. A wife and a son he'd lost. Or misplaced. And until he saw them he didn't know what he wanted. From the time he left Miami until he got here, he only had a vague sense of direction, and the sense of being pulled home was so magnetically strong he had not recognized it for what it was.

He discovered his memory had turned into an extremely faulty companion when stirred, shaken and poured. Lime and tequila, rum and mint or the ancient brew of monks. It all worked the same.

Until he stopped at that lookout again two days ago, he hadn't realized how long ago he'd started rewriting own history, of what he'd done there that day, that night, the moment he'd left. He'd altered the truth so he could ignore it, to forget his weak and vulnerable moments, and he'd continued that way for thirty years until he couldn't do that any longer.

Not a minute longer.

He answered questions for his son. He couldn't change the past and he'd owed Sam explanation, so he sucked it up and did the best he was capable of. He'd heard Amanda leave with some excuse about seeing Zoe which left him and Sam alone in that small space he called an office.

It was just the two of them with the photos Hector sent spread in front of his son, like evidence. Sam asked him to put them in order, oldest to newest and, without speaking, he did.

"Where was this?" he asked his father.

"Thailand."

"Year?"

"'78."

"Before or after you married Mom?"

"Before."

Sam held up another photo.

"Teheran, '78."

"Ah, after. No sand. Where's this?"

"Germany, '79 or '80."

"Here?"

"El Salvador. 1980."

"This?"

"Same place. Same year."

"Here?"

"Near Libya, '81."

Then his son held up the black and white award photo.

Sam sat down in the chair next to his son's desk and shook his head. "You should burn that."

"Why?"

He looked away from his son's steady gaze then. "Because eight men died. You shouldn't . . . it's wrong . . ."

"To get a medal for that." Sam filled in the words he wouldn't say and looked back at the photo. "Why are you sitting in a wheelchair?"

"I got shot."

"Who's this?" he pointed to Hector.

"Hector Garcia."

His son thought about that for a moment then slowly picked up the envelope and turned it over to look at the handwritten return address. "Father H. Famosa Garcia?"

"Yes."

Sam Axe the younger had seen this type of response before. He'd seen from the men in his unit; he could relate to it himself. It was hard to keep it all together. He could see a muscle in his father's jaw working. He knew now what had happened, not the specifics; he didn't need to know the specifics, but he knew. Whatever his father had been involved with that warranted this type of recognition had involved a hellish battle, after which only a few of his team members had survived.

He might be able to find information about the commendation online or not. Record keeping on service awards, even the silver, was as erratic today as it was yesterday. He might call that priest. But he wouldn't ask his father more about this, not today, not now. Maybe never again.

What he saw was his father's response to surviving the battle and losing his teammates. Some officer had called his actions heroic, but he would never see them that way. Teams worked as precise units built on trust and skills; if something went wrong with one team member it went wrong with all of them.

"How long were you a SEAL?"

"Once a SEAL always . . . on a team, three years after that."

"Then what?"

Sam watched his father look away. "Got busy, went NSWDG—"

"Counter terrorism unit," Sam observed.

His father didn't look up. "Yes, but I left to be a trainer with the teams, then back to special ops until I got out six years ago."

"Why didn't you ever come back? Come back here?"

His father turned to look at him. "I came back once. I got everything wrong and I left. I never gave your mother a chance to tell me about you. I never gave a friend a chance to explain. I'm not real good . . . with explanations myself. You may not like what you hear, but I won't lie to you. And I can't change it."

Sam pointed to the black and white awards ceremony photo. He needed to extend an olive branch. He needed his father. He didn't need his father to go away again, and if that happened, he didn't want to act in loco parentis to his parents' yet unborn children, his infant sister and brother.

"You came back after this. The military has never done a good job of helping people with transitioning into . . ."

"No, it never has."

Sam sighed inwardly. He shouldn't have been surprised by his father's quick response. It appeared he'd been negating valor for decades; it wouldn't change.

Instead, he changed topics and sought the personal, because he had ample proof his parents loved each other.

"You left mom here. You didn't divorce her. Isn't that why you showed up?"

"Yes and no."

"It can't be both."

"It can if your head isn't screwed on straight and you just helped a friend come back from the other side."

"Westen."

Sam tapped the black and white photo again and looked at his father. "Five, six years after this, why didn't you come back then?"

"Because I wanted to forget everything here. I had nothing. Understand? I didn't have a home or a family or a wife. I had the Navy. I had some friends. But I told you already, I got that all wrong. I can't change it."

"Sheldon screwed up."

"Don't dump this on him. This was all me_, all me_."

Sam studied his father for a moment longer and wiped a hand across his face. He looked at him, met his eyes and told him what he thought. "It's called latent onset, PTSD."

"I know what it's called."

With that he got up from the inquisitor's chair, glanced down at the photos on the desk top and turned to leave.

But his son stopped him with a quavering voice. "Dad?"

He didn't turn around to look at him. "What?"

"I love you."

He dropped his head, felt his chest heave and closed his eyes. "I love you, too, Sam."

He could not bring himself to turn back to look at his son. He'd grabbed his jacket where he'd left it on the stair railing and when he hit the last step on the ground floor, he whistled for Diesel who came loping toward him from across the cavernous room. He'd left the warehouse and drove to the lookout, surprised by where his subconscious chose to take him.

He intended to drive home, but he couldn't go there yet. Because he was still stuck re-living the day when he'd left home, when he'd left Amanda and, unknowingly, left his son.

He hadn't slept in his car that night like he'd told Hector, and he'd only spent a couple of hours in a bar at Virginia Beach the day before reporting back. The only woman he'd met was the grannie who ran the rundown beach front motel where he stayed.

It'd become one of those stories he'd told so often he actually believed it was the truth. Until he couldn't avoid the truth.

He'd spent most of the next six weeks from the time he left Amanda until the time he had to report back to Norfolk sitting on the sand, watching the water. Feeling guilty, being angry. He hadn't actually broken a marriage vow like he'd told Hector. Other women? He just wanted the one he had. _Had_, being the operative word. No, that had taken him another six months or so to accomplish, but who the hell cared by then? He'd been drunk; it'd been easy.

It wasn't until the end of the next operation that he'd developed quite an admiration for powers of alcohol. The higher proof, the better.

He thought it was hysterical the night he and Hector learned from some old RAF vet that alcoholic spirits were graded with gunpowder. Gunpowder. What more perfect measurement for booze? If a pinch of it would still ignite after a mix of alcohol and water was poured on it, it was the good stuff. The higher proof stuff.

Yeah, that was hysterical for a minute or two before the old guy passed out and he and Hector propped him up in a booth and then got back to their own serious drinking. And when he was done drinking and getting sick, and sleeping and showering, and shaving and eating, he started over. Same thing, different day.

After six weeks on that beach he'd reported back and invented the colorful tale of what he'd been doing, and how he'd lost his wedding ring. He always wondered if Hector saw through the ruse, but he hadn't thought about that for a long time.

Sam Axe became almost as good at pretending to himself as he was at drinking. Like several of his other skills, he was exceptionally capable.

The next time they were at liberty, he was comfortable with his new way of life because drinking was about forgetting. Fooling himself. Hiding behind a curtain. Killing pain. Except it never actually killed pain, it only opened a door so pain could sneak inside and hide, and when he sobered up, like some maniacal jack in the box, it popped up to hurt him.

His friend Mike could hide stuff in his mind without the assistance of alcohol. Sam admired the skill but he'd never been able to do that. He needed alcohol, and he'd been generous to himself with repeated infusions through the years.

There were some hazards to going without it. Kid movies. Dammit.

He never planned on the emotional whomp in the chest he received the night he watched the Wizard of Oz with Jacob and Noah while Sam was in the hospital. He found he could relate to the wizard who wasn't a wizard but had a great set up. A good act. And a microphone. And smoke and mirrors. It looked real. Wasn't fiction real?

He'd sat there with his arms around his small, sturdy, pajama-clad grandsons snuggled on either side of him in the big recliner, their small heads resting on his chest. Then, he realized he was getting choked up about a girl who wanted the wizard to help her and her dog find their way home because she missed everyone so much.

He'd been fine until he looked through the glass door separating Diesel from Zoe's strictly dog-free living room and saw the dog watching them. He closed his eyes before he embarrassed himself, and let Amanda nudge him because she'd thought he was sleeping. His feint allowed him to hide behind the curtain of his own making. So the boys wouldn't see, so she wouldn't see, but she did because she'd looked across the room and saw Diesel, then looked back to him before she leaned down to kiss his cheek and lifted a sleepy Noah from his chest to take him to bed.

In her perfect, gentle way she said nothing, and that's when he knew she had his back. He could trust Amanda with his life. With everything. He didn't understand it, but wasn't that what he wanted? That she could see and somehow understand him without him needing to explain anything?

He wasn't able to step out of the roller coaster loop he'd been trapped in until everything changed when she arrived today, asking nothing of him except to be with her.

Part of him was deeply at peace with the wind rushing past the windows, a counterpoint to the distant rhythmic white noise of moving surf, and watching flames in the fireplace, with Amanda next to him. He'd felt her love wash over him before, and she was covering him with it now.

Yet, he remained of two minds. Because the part of him that wasn't at peace, was truly not at peace.

Who had he spent all that time fooling? Himself. And why? They'd lost eight teammates in back to back operations. Eight good, brave men. Eight brothers. Eight friends. He could say their names now, in his mind. He had yet to speak their names out loud, but he knew he could now. He couldn't have done that six months ago. Or a year ago.

To understand why he started remembering, all he had to do was to look at her. Whatever part of his heart he'd been trying to keep for himself was gone now; she held it completely, possessed it completely. And he'd given it all to her, freely.

He should tell her.

When she appeared out of nowhere to sit next to him on the beach, he took the small parts and pieces that were left of his heart, the ones he'd foolishly harbored, and surrendered them to her. She owned it all now, and he didn't want it back because he'd discovered she'd given him every bit of hers years and years ago. And she didn't fault him for not being able to see that.

He looked down and realized his angel wife had dozed off. Diesel was standing in front of him now, looking between him and the door. He moved his arm to carefully ease her down onto the couch, then kissed her forehead and got up to let Diesel out.

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Amanda was warm and in her husband's arms, in a cozy, comfortable bed. With the window open a crack to allow the sound of the ocean and wind inside, it made their comfortable surroundings seem luxuriously insulated from anything that could hurt them. Their bed was a nest of tranquil comfort, a safe place to be because outside the walls of the house, she could hear a storm coming in.

It was barely dawn when she opened her eyes to see him watching her. It always made her smile to see him. His gaze was one she remembered seeing so many years ago, when they first became husband and wife. It was a look of need and love that did not require interpretation.

She raised her lips to his and he gently complied by pressing a trail of kisses to her cheek then down her neck where he always seemed to be enchanted by that birthmark she never liked until he told her it was shaped like a heart, his heart.

"Mmm, morning," she whispered.

"Morning," he agreed huskily, "I wish. . ."

She pressed tenderly urgent, soft kisses over his face. "We still can."

At the question in his eyes she explained they were safe for a few more weeks. Still, he paused.

She closed her eyes because she did not want to debate, to discuss. "Please, Sam? I need you."

And their neediness spoke to each other. Gently, easily, sweetly. It was the intimate communion they both desperately needed to affirm the love they knew was unique to them. And when his tears joined hers, they kissed each other with such tenderness that they disappeared into each other.

They lay together, listening to the storm outside, and as Sam pressed his lips to her forehead, he realized he was calm again. The roiling seas of his memories had calmed. He had traversed dark waters to where she had given him refuge, the place of internal rest he needed. He was safe now. He was no longer free diving without enough air to reach the surface.

When she turned and rose up on her elbow, she pressed gentle hands against his face and looked into his eyes. He saw tears form and clump her eyelashes together. Her words were whisper quiet. "I can't lose you again. I need you too much. Do you understand?"

"I'm sorry—" he started to say, but she didn't want to hear that, so she pressed her lips against his.

"Please don't leave me again." It was a humbled plea. "Please, Sam."

Sam felt his chest tighten as he took on her pain. "I won't. I promise, Manda. I promise."

She watched him for a moment until she believed what she saw and then looped her arms around his neck and cried softly. He soothed her with kisses and hushed words of apology. Emotionally spent, they slept again.

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Impatient for the humans in his life to waken, Diesel thumped two paws on Sam's side of the bed. The storm was gone and he wanted out. Now. When Sam didn't move immediately he startled him awake with a cold nose pressed firmly against the back of his warm neck.

Sam turned, smiled and slipped out of bed, covering Amanda with the blanket as he left. He quickly grabbed his jeans, socks and found a turtleneck but not his t-shirt.

Once Diesel was outside, he returned to the bedroom, located is shirt and picked up his shoes, but he stopped to fix the image in his mind of Amanda at sleep. Such sweetness, such love in one person. She'd asked him for his promise to never leave her, but he needed her so much more than that. He leaned down to kiss her forehead but the movement woke her. Her eyes popped open.

"Oh!"

"Oh?"

"Bathroom."

"Oh." Sam smiled and offered her a hand to help her get up from the bed. She hurried to the bathroom. By the time she came back, he was fully dressed and waiting.

"Should I make the bed or?"

"I'm not going back there, not without you," she said quietly.

"Manda, I—"

She could see he had things he wanted to talk about, and circled him with her arms. "Let's talk after breakfast."

He leaned down to kiss her cheek. "Sure. Diesel probably wants back in."

She smiled. "Probably."

By the time she was dressed and in the kitchen, Sam had retrieved a bag of dog food from some place and was filling Diesel's bowl.

"I didn't see that last night," she said.

"Because it was in my truck," he explained sheepishly. "I forgot it."

She crossed the room and wrapped her arms around his waist again. "He liked my soup better," she told him and leaned back to look up into his face. "We can have eggs or toast or eggs and toast. What would you like?"

Sam smiled at that. "Both. I'll make coffee."

She sighed. "I'll put the kettle on for decaffeinated tea."

"You can have coffee after the babies are born, right?"

"Not right away because I hope I'll be nursing."

He turned and looked at her then. He'd forgotten that.

By the time she set their plates on the counter, she could see he was lost in an unpleasant thought.

"Okay?" she asked.

He looked down at breakfast. "Oh, yeah. Okay. Thank you."

She should have been more specific, Amanda realized. She wondered where he'd gone, which memory or thought had given him pause.

They finished their meal and she located her morning meds and together they loaded the dishwasher before they took their coffee and tea to the deck. The early morning storm had left sunshine behind, but it was windy so they chose to sit on the southeast side of the deck which was protected from the buffeting winds. It was a small, warm insular environment that allowed them to watch the ocean and gave Diesel a good vantage point, too.

Sam had moved the two person glider to the deck earlier and seemed content to sit and enjoy the water from this distance.

"Sheldon doesn't want the house used as a rental any more. He wants us to keep it private now," she said, glancing at him. "I told him okay and I thought you'd think so, too. We'll change locks, and you all can vote on whether you want to upgrade the heating cooling system. And we'll be able to leave bedding and towels and some supplies here. What do you think?"

"Good idea."

"We sometimes come here for the holidays."

"I'd like that."

Amanda was overflowing with questions, but she waited. Patiently.

She rested against his solid presence and enjoyed the warm, wind-free alcove. She slid her hand under his breathed in the after-rain scent of the morning.

His voice was low and soft. "I should have told you where I was going, but it was . . ." Sam looked down. "I'm sorry, Manda."

She squeezed his hand. " 's okay."

He relaxed and stretched his legs to prop them against the deck railing.

The turmoil created in her husband by the photos Father Hector sent was startling and somehow related to their old story. She wanted to understand, but she sensed he was not ready for that yet.

"I told Sam . . . I never gave you a chance to tell me about him. I never gave Mack a chance to explain. I don't know . . . how to fix this. I'm pretty sure it needs fixing."

She turned to look at his profile. When their unborn children joined conversation silently with thumps and kicks, Amanda said quietly, "I think you've fixed things."

"Not with Sam, but—with you? I hope?"

She moved his hand to her baby belly. "You came back. You put up those ridiculous signs, and you gave me this. You promised not to leave. I've think you've fixed things . . . at least for the next 20 years. Talk to Sam. Be his dad. Don't you think that'll work?"

He dropped his head and kissed her moveable stomach and looked up. "I love our babies and I love you, but it's Sam I'm . . . I don't know what fathers and sons are supposed to do. My dad was so distant. I barely knew him as an adult, and then he was gone."

Amanda smoothed her hand along his to soothe his worry.

"I get to start fresh with these two, but I don't know what to say to him."

"I understand," she sighed. "For a long time after you left, if someone asked about you I . . . wouldn't say anything. I couldn't. It wasn't until I met Dee and Rosy that I realized I wasn't crazy because I still loved you. David didn't want Dee around. He kept telling her he was defective, his body was ruined and he was going to die. He came home broken, but he still loved her and," she laughed, "he didn't know about Alex who was born while he was in Vietnam.

"It was after I met David, and I saw how he reacted to things that I realized I'd had watched you do the same thing when you came back and found me at Mack's place. I knew there had to be more of a reason for the way you acted, but I couldn't even guess."

She blew out a breath. "When he was 15, Sam wanted to know about you, and because I hadn't really told him anything, that's when I told him you had the same birthday and that he looked like you and you were a Navy SEAL. He'd understood about CrossAxe for a long time, but that didn't matter to him. It should have, though. Without it, I don't know what I would have done."

"Manda, I'm so—"

"I know, Sam." She paused and squeezed his hand. "When our son came back from Iraq, he was so . . . anxious. He didn't understand why he was fine, why there was nothing wrong with him when too many others in his unit had been hurt. Zoe and I were worried, but it was David who saw what was troubling him and helped.

"I've been reading a lot of things on the computer, and everything comes back to the same thing . . . PTSD or latent PTSD. I think you both —"

He squeezed her hand and lifted it to his lips to press a kiss there. "I know it. For years, I drank it away. I don't know why I'm so lucky, to still have you, to know Sam and to know I don't _need _a drink. That was something that . . . went away after I saw you again."

Amanda took a moment to absorb that, staring at their entwined hands. He'd jogged a memory.

"I was always thankful Sam only got involved with beer the last year of high school, the normal kid stuff, I thought. He spent most of his teenage years playing sports or trying to end his argument with Zoe. His trash can was always full of wadded up notes or letters to her." She laughed slightly. "It was probably a good thing they weren't speaking because I'm sure Jacob and Noah could have arrived a lot sooner."

They sat together in silence, watching Diesel watch the gulls and growl at one when it landed on the deck railing. They laughed at that.

Sam shifted closer to her. "Manda, am I forgiven?"

"Only if I am." She glanced up at him as he leaned toward her to kiss her lips. "Thank you." He didn't move away but looked into her eyes. "Do you think Sam can?"

"You know you both speak a different language than I do."

He leaned back in the seat. After a lengthy silence, he remembered what he hadn't told her.

"Hector and I tried to turn down the awards but they wouldn't let us. We lost eight men. Eight good men."

Amanda reached to put her hand on his arm and waited for the rest. He pressed his other hand over hers.

"We were supposed to extract some school teachers who were trapped and protect a Congressman who was there investigating the murder of some church women. We got him out of the area but it wasn't clear and . . . and it was trap."

He pursed his lips as if locking the rest of the words inside, but then he set them free. "We lost four men that day, but two days later, the guy wanted to travel back to the area so he could talk to a couple of other people. One of our guys was killed, as soon as we arrived. We got the Congressman out again, but . . ." He continued to look into the distance. "We got two of team out . . . that was all."

Amanda understood Sam had only sketched the outline of what had affected him so deeply for so long. She wouldn't be asking for more. She wanted to understand more, but she wouldn't ask.

"We weren't officially there. It was acknowledged and then denied, and then the whole country turned into a blood bath. Romero was assassinated. Six priests, thirteen before it was over, nuns, women . . . too many dead. We were lucky we could get our guys' bodies out."

He leaned forward, breaking contact, his head down. "I'm sorry, Manda. I'm just kind of . . . screwed up here thinking about this crap."

She put a soft hand on his back, felt the tension there. He turned back and wrapped his arms around her as if she could keep him from falling off the ends of the earth, because she did.

#

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Sheldon finished the history lesson for Sam.

For a moment, he could see the boy he remembered clearly, the boy who wanted to know where his father was and wondered if he'd ever come home, not the man who didn't know what to do with his anger with or his love for his father since he possessed both.

Next to giving his wife the freedom to walk away from their marriage and leave him with Zoe, it'd been one of the most challenging, pain and regret-filled things Sheldon had ever done—to keep Sam Axe's whereabouts a secret from his son and wife.

He'd been officially advised regarding the ethics of informing Mrs. Axe of her husband's whereabouts. She was married to him, and he'd obtained a copy of their marriage certificate to add weight to his argument with the powers that were at Langley at the time.

It wasn't his place; initially, his job had been to protect her, but now that he'd completed that assignment, he had another. His job was to work extractions, and they expected him to fulfill it. In secrecy.

Their instructions made sense, even if he disagreed.

He'd been informed by his director that if Axe had wanted to acknowledge the marriage, he would have filed paperwork to make her and his child military dependents, but because he hadn't done that, it presumed there was a problem with the relationship or the parentage of the child. He had been on a couple of lengthy assignments, and had been away from his home for a long time. The military and the CIA were not personal or family counselors.

Axe was a highly valued special operations resource; the Navy and the CIA had plans for him.

Sheldon was told his personal relationship with Mrs. Axe and her son tainted his objectivity.

But as Sam grew into boyhood and young manhood, Sheldon knew who his father was. And it'd all been complicated by the fact that Sam Axe's son and his daughter Zoe were inseparable, quite literally from the first moment they saw each other and heard each other's names.

At first he and Amanda thought it was because they'd both lost a parent. Then they realized it was more complex than that. For them and their children.

Complex then.

Complex now.

Shel continued and finished his story. "They didn't send them back to El Salvador. If someone recognized them or they'd been captured—well, the propaganda would have lasted for years. Famosa Garcia left the military and they sent your dad to Libya; sometime during those years, he met Westen and his wife when she was IRA."

Sam had met her when the couple visited his parents a couple of months earlier with their infant son. "She was in the IRA? What did she do? How'd she get out?"

"Ran guns, talented bomb builder, terrorist." Sheldon smiled. "As for getting out, that's another story, but she just left Ireland. Went to Boston, then after Westen was burned, she went to Miami. Your dad was already there. The world turned, things changed."

"What do you think, Sheldon?" Sam asked him.

He needed permission to be angry, he realized. And so he gave it to him.

"You have every right to ask your father anything you want to know about where he was, what he was doing and why he stayed away. So ask. Don't be afraid of him leaving. He's not going to leave your mother. You know that."

And he's not going to leave you, either, Sheldon thought, but it wouldn't matter what he said from this point forward. Sam Axe would need to account for his whereabouts with his son himself. That was not his job.

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Amanda was relieved and grateful to be home again. She had a doctor's appointment in the morning and she didn't want to miss it.

Once Sam learned that piece of information, he wrapped up his project of arranging for some changes and repairs to the beach house. He'd been very enthused about the possibility of observing either Thanksgiving or Christmas at the beach, but he wasn't going to let her drive home alone, so he'd been right behind her, every mile, all 382 of them.

It took her longer to travel now because she stopped at every rest stop she could, or a gas station or a fast food place—with a bathroom. Sam never complained.

She hadn't been home two minutes when Zoe pulled up with Sam. She came into the house carrying Abby. The darling child was growing and smiling and giggling. She set the baby carrier on top of the kitchen table as Amanda smiled rattled the musical star toy attached to her carrier.

They ignored the topic of why Amanda had left by herself, of why Sam had left and what had prompted all of that.

Instead they caught up on The Cakery business and the news that David and Dee's twin boys were home, accompanied by their fiancés—more twins. They were laughing about that when they heard Diesel barking.

The dog never barked without reason, and he was obviously aggravated by something. Then he stopped. Amanda and Zoe looked to the back door and a second later, they heard a horn honk.

It continued honking and Zoe realized it was Sam inside their truck. She opened the back door to meet her father-in-law coming up the steps. He was holding his hand over his lip and blood was dripping on his jacket. His eye was swelling.

"Good Lord, did Sammy do this to you?"

"Yup, he did."

"Are you okay?" she wondered, but looked over his shoulder through the glass to see her husband sitting inside the truck. He honked the horn again.

"What happened?"

Her father-in-law smiled, and brushed the back of his hand against his mouth. Amanda handed him a kitchen towel to staunch the flow of blood.

"We communicated. He's got a hell of a left. It matches the right. Check him and make sure he didn't hurt his other arm, okay? We don't need him to go back to the hospital."

Zoe seemed very confused. "What happened?" she asked again.

"Have I ever told you I love your husband?"

Amanda watched her husband and daughter-in-law and smiled. Yes. Men spoke a different language. Or maybe that was that her husband and son were making more progress in being father and son.

"Here, Zoe. I'll help you get the baby latched in," she said, indicating the door. "I think Sam's ready to go home."

They all heard the truck horn sound again.

"Call me later, okay?" Amanda asked.

Zoe nodded, picked up her daughter's car carrier seat, and looked at her father-in-law. "Are you okay?"

"Never better, sunshine."


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

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The night before Sam lost control and hit his father twice, the man who had always treated him as his son attempted to explain things.

He gave him a history lesson about El Salvador, civil unrest, the oppressors and the oppressed and the SEAL missions that had failed, and why they'd failed.

Sheldon let him know there wasn't a thing wrong with being angry with his father. Shel also believed his father wouldn't leave his mother now. _Now,_ he wouldn't leave his mother, even though he'd done that already, _again_. Leaving today and not telling anyone why or where he was going didn't side with the history Sam had lived.

And then, Shel slipped into conjecture.

Sam wasn't sold on Sheldon's theories, but his father-in-law's heart was in the right place if his logic wasn't.

"Blame your grandparents who died before you were born—that's the genetics part. Blame the SEALs—they trained him. Then blame your dad for being the kind of man he is," Sheldon said.

"That analysis makes sense to you?" Sam scoffed with a wry challenge.

He was sitting on the rustic bench Zoe restored after they were married. It occupied one end of the glassed-in porch. Sheldon sat in a low lounge chair next to it. Inside, their baby girl was sleeping, and Zoe was putting the boys to bed. His beloved, mind-reading wife shooed him away to talk to her father when he started to help the way he usually did.

The flesh under his cast was itching tonight and he couldn't scratch it. It was making him irritable, frustrated.

Actually, the emotion was more complex than that.

He was furious—furious with himself for being so concerned about his father.

Simple anger had heated to a white-hot intensity because _his father left. Again._ He'd turned off his phone and left. And he'd left his mother again—_his pregnant mother_.

The last time Sam felt this way was the night his father dropped in from planet Florida and landed on his mother's porch. From being permanently absent to returning to North Carolina after 30 years. Like that was normal?

Nothing had been normal since the man appeared.

Not one damned thing.

He'd been really, really angry that night, too.

Now Sheldon was trying to explain why his father had run off to the beach by himself. Worse, his mother was going after him in the morning. How old was old enough to know better? Apparently, neither of his parents was old enough yet to understand that.

He'd been more mature at 16 then his father was at 54.

Talk about irrational, emotional lunacy.

His parents' lunacy, not his. Although, for a second, Sam did wonder where his state of mind originated, and then he knew who to blame: his father.

Sheldon had a more sympathetic view of his father's actions.

Zoe wasn't commenting.

"The thing about latent onset PTSD that makes sense is that it affects the strong. How else do you account for WWII or Korean or even Desert Storm vets who suddenly, after years, are immobilized by it?"

When Sam didn't respond to that, Sheldon frowned but continued. "SEAL training is about strength, fitness and ability—skills. No matter rank, they're all natural leaders. But there are intrinsic qualities, things can't be measured. Long-term survival in a SEAL's operational arena is about heart. You know it when you see it. You know this is true among your own men."

"It is, but—"

"Men and women in your company are having a hard time transitioning into civilian life."

"I know, that's why—"

"Your dad had a hard time transitioning when they lost 8 men in three days. It took some old photos and three decades for him to acknowledge that. Strong soldiers keep moving. They ignore pain or bury it. You already know this and, whether or not you recognize it, you are also very much like him. How many men did you lose?"

"That's not the same thing, Shel."

"Of course not."

The look Sam shot Shel was filled with fire.

He sat slouched on the bench, left ankle on top of the right knee, moving his foot with agitation as he digested his father-in-law's evaluation.

Maybe he had point.

And maybe he didn't.

Shel wasn't done. "So you're not cutting him any slack because . . . ?"

Sam's reply was lightning fast. "Why should I?"

Sheldon shook his head slowly. "Here, help me up out of this damned chair."

"Then don't sit in it," Sam said as he used his functioning arm to help Shel stand. "It's too low to the ground for a guy who needs a hip replaced."

"Why are you in such a bad mood?" Sheldon wondered.

"After he left today, I got curious. He brought back a bunch of stuff from Miami. It's still crated in the back of the warehouse by Mom's old truck. I took a look at it. In one of the boxes, I found a scrapbook of sorts. If he could go deep sea fishing, do you think he could have come back here? Found an hour or two? He had opportunity. He never took it."

"He didn't know about you."

"He knew about Mom."

"Good point."

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Sam couldn't sleep that night.

He was restless and worried about his mother when he heard her leave at 3:45 a.m., long before the 6 o'clock hour she'd told him she planned to leave for the beach house. She was pregnant; she shouldn't be driving all day alone. He also knew once she set her mind to something, that was it. She tended to be focused that way. He wanted to call her but decided to wait. Zoe was getting some much needed rest and he didn't need to disturb her.

It hadn't been that long ago since he nearly lost her, and his precious wife needed to take care of herself. Abby was fussing, getting a tooth maybe. Probably. But as soon as he got up to check on her, and rubbed his daughter's tiny back she quieted.

He slid back into bed carefully and wished he could quiet the noise inside his head.

Acknowledging he was roiling with emotion since his father magically reappeared had been a week-by-week, shock-absorbing process. There was a thin membrane of civility encompassing the heated thoughts and sensations he'd been keeping to himself, and he knew it was about to rupture.

He hadn't been prepared for any of this. How could he?

He loathed operating on emotion but that's all he'd been doing since his father returned and it was getting more difficult to keep his balance.

He'd lost his balance walking that emotional tight rope after Abby was born and Zoe almost had a stroke. He lost it again when his mother had nearly died, hanging off a mountain ledge in her new SUV, not that his father noticed that anyone else was hurting or worried besides himself.

The surprise surgery he'd needed on his arm, a true annoyance, tipped him off that narrow, taut rope again. He could deal with many things, but the surgery, pain and cast on his arm had eroded the last of his emotional calm.

He told himself he was a little stressed, but he could handle it. He'd handled tougher situations during his unit's long deployment in Iraq. No one was shooting at him here, so things ought to be easier.

But between thinking about what he'd read in that background check Zoe had quietly requested on his dad—the one she didn't know he'd read before she shredded it, then his mother's pregnancy and then talking to that priest friend of his in Miami—he was done. All done.

His patience had an expiration date.

Months ago, that first morning after his father appeared like some twisted magician, the night after he'd borrowed his ridiculous Cadillac to bring Zoe home from the hospital, Sam had looked in the mirror and saw tears in his eyes.

It pissed him off. It was bad enough to have the same name and birthday as the jerk, but the rest of it? Ample proof right there in the mirror. His mother never even had a picture of him. She'd told him he looked like the man, but how would he know? The only family pictures he'd seen were of his father's dead parents and his aunt. Dammit. At least he had his mother's eye color. And Zoe. His anchor.

He turned to look at her when he felt her watching him with those mysterious hazel eyes—brown, gray, blue, green—it was all a trick of the night light. He'd been fascinated by her and her beautiful eyes since the moment they met as children.

"Don't worry, Sammy."

"If I don't do it, who will?"

She sighed and moved her cheek to rest on his bare chest and wrapped her arm around his stomach. "Not fair using my words against me."

"Lots of things are not fair, Zo."

"I know. Like my mother dying and never seeing our babies."

"I'm sorry." He caressed her shoulder and kissed the top of her head; he knew how her death had devastated her and Sheldon.

"Don't be mad at your dad, Sammy. At least he's trying to fix things."

"Is that what he's doing?"

She kissed his cheek. "I didn't say he was good at it."

#

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Jacob and Noah were with Sheldon but Zoe had brought Abby with her, latched in her carrier in the back seat, when she'd picked him up at the warehouse. His arm was just one of the slow healing casualties of the fight he'd broken up between two of his men weeks ago.

Their relationship would be slow to heal as well. It'd been an ugly argument about whose wife was sleeping with whom, and who was using drugs and who wasn't.

Both men were taller, stronger and heavier than he was, but that hadn't stopped him. There was no fighting at his warehouse. Sam knew these two guys had kept each other alive through a long, long deployment. He didn't know why they'd forgotten that, so he reminded them.

He'd put Hicks on the floor that day, but Diehl wouldn't quit. He'd been a man possessed, and the cops put him down before handcuffing him. If there was one thing Sam saw as positive in the whole mess, it was that Diehl's blood test proved he was clean. That had been pure emotion pouring out of him, not the by-product of an illegal chemical. Hicks had dropped charges.

Unfortunately, after today, he wasn't sure a peace could be brokered between the two, and by the end of their meeting, Sam withdrew from arbitrating that fray and returned to simple.

Simple worked.

The warehouse was a safe place. Arguments, debates and disagreements had to be parked at the door. He'd told them to pick opposite days to visit if they didn't want to stop coming. By the end of their conversations, he'd been satisfied they'd made progress, and he was relieved to see Zoe arrive to pick him up.

He wasn't, however, particularly happy to see his father's vehicle behind his mother's their driveway when they pulled around the corner. Sam pointed to the driveway. "Pull in, Zo. I want to talk to my dad, okay?"

He freed and lifted Abby's baby seat out of its latched position, and Zoe carried her to the house. He waved when his mother opened the kitchen door for them. Sam found his father in the garage, his hands on his hips, looking at a wall of tools. Diesel was next to him.

"What are you looking for?"

He turned and looked over his shoulder while Diesel wagged his way to greet him.

Sam stroked his broad, white head with his good hand.

"Your mother says she wants a granite kettle, but I don't see one."

"You're on the wrong side of the garage. It's over there."

Just like that, Sam changed his mind. He decided he didn't want to talk to his father. Not now. He was still of an uncertain mood, a residual effect of how he'd spent his afternoon. He decided what he had on his mind could wait for another day.

Sam turned, words of thanks at the ready, but he paused when he saw the look on his son's face. "What's wrong?"

Rather than answer, Sam turned on his heel and walked the opposite direction. When he felt his father's hand on his shoulder he jerked away from his touch and kept walking toward Zoe's SUV.

"Sam?"

When he didn't respond, the next thing he knew, his father was standing in front of him, blocking his exit.

"Okay, what's wrong?"

"You have the nerve to ask that?" His tone was sarcastic.

"What did I do now?"

"Are you frickin' kidding me? You left. Again. You didn't tell anyone where you were going. You turned off your damned phone. Ma had Shel track you down. What's wrong? _What's_ _wrong_? You're wrong, that's what's _wrong_. You should have stayed gone."

When he turned to step away, his father stopped him with a strong hand on his shoulder. That lit a powerful fuse that detonated Sam's emotional time bomb. He turned back and with his still functional left arm used his fist to deliver a jab to his father's face to accentuate his point. It landed on a cheekbone, next to his eye. Diesel started circling them, nudging their knees with his nose.

His father jerked at the impact, then swiped at the injury but didn't break eye contact. "I'm sorry, son."

"Don't call me that," he growled.

"Don't call you_ son_?"

"And take down those damned signs. I'm sick of them."

"They were for your mother."

That was as incendiary a device as was calling his son _son_.

Sam watched his son's fist reappear and, once again, he didn't try to avoid the connection, but he winced when knuckles connected with his mouth and snapped his head to the side. Sam clamped his hands around his son's shoulders, and braced for the shove he knew was coming.

"She wasn't the only—," he started, "People —dammit." He used his arm and shoulder to break free of his father's grip and back away, but that didn't stop the man from advancing.

He turned, braced himself and took a step toward his father with his fist doubled up.

Diesel started barking, running between them and around them, nudging his nose and head between their knees as if to separate them. Both men ignored their dog.

Sam the elder held his arms open and his palms out and up and a gesture of surrender. "I'm sorry, Sam."

The blue fire in his son's eyes was dark and intense. "You had plenty of chances to come back here and you didn't. I looked through that crap you left at the warehouse. You couldn't find a single minute in 30 years to come back here?"

"I'm sorry, Sam. I love you. I'm sorry."

"Dammit, _don't say that_. Leave me alone. Go away."

"I can't."

"_Stop that."_

"I can't." Sam Axe the elder closed the distance between them to put his arms around his son and pulled him against his chest, as tightly as the cast on his arm between them allowed. He put his hand on his son's shoulder and kissed his forehead. "I love you, Sam. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Sam saw his son's fist clench into a knot again and let out a breath of resignation. Blue eyes met brown, and both were damp. "Go ahead. Take another shot, I deserve it. I'm sorry. But you're going to have get used to me because I'm not leaving you, and I'm not leaving your mother."

"You already did that."

He tried to move away from his father's arms, but was held tight.

Sam touched his forehead to his son's. "I won't do it again. I promise."

He couldn't read his expression, because Sam wouldn't look at him; instead, he shoved away from him and walked to the truck. Diesel followed him. "Tell Zoe I want to go home." He climbed inside the SUV and pulled the door shut with enough force that the vehicle rocked.

Diesel sat on the pavement next to the door Sam just slammed shut and turned his broad white head to look at the man standing behind him.

Sam watched his son reach to depress the vehicle's horn. For emphasis, he pressed it again. Then again.

While Sam the younger found himself knotted with confusion, his father realized it had taken leaving to come back to find his son not taking such great care in how to talk to him. His son had stopped employing the polite, worried shield he'd put between them since he'd heard his and Amanda's first argument, then stepped across the kitchen, his hand outstretched, to apologize for hitting him after his mother introduced them. The healing journey he and Amanda had taken was far more complete than the one he'd begun with his son.

His son was pissed and should be. Maybe this was just the new start they needed because if Amanda had lived with a damned big invisible scarlet A on her chest, what had his son lived with? As a boy? Or a teenage kid?

This was a grief he had to accept because it belonged to him.

He'd made one stupendously stupid, irrational snap-decision 30 years ago to create this canyon that separated him from his family. He shouldn't expect that building bridges across it would be either a quick or pain free process.

But the raw moments with Sam allowed him to understand something he hadn't understood before. He turned toward the house to let Zoe know her husband wanted to go home.

Sam watched as Zoe pulled out of the driveway, and Amanda handed him another damp towel to mop up the mess their son had made of his face.

He tried to shoo her away. "This is okay. Really."

"Like I said, men speak a different language. I'll get the first aid supplies."

He opened the back door to let Diesel come inside, but the dog didn't move. It took Sam a minute to realize Diesel was not going to come inside.

"Mandy, what's that dog doing now?"

She smiled, looked outside and saw Diesel watching the hill. "You are not his only friend."

Stepping around Sam, she opened the door wide and addressed the big, lumbering family protector. "Go, go see Sammy."

That was all it took. Diesel took off over the hill.

When she turned back to see the look on Sam's face, she laughed at him.

Sam gave her a grumpy look, so she laughed at him again. "Missing your dog?"

"Yes," he said, simply. "But not as much as my son. Our son."

"I can see that."

He put his arms around her shoulders. "I'm so sorr—"

She turned to put a finger over his lips. "I know. I hope Sam knows that."

"I'll have to convince him, I guess."

#

#

#

Finding Diesel sitting by her front door was not a welcome sight, but it was also not a surprise.

Zoe looked over to her husband. "Your dog has to stay on the porch."

"I know."

She watched him rub his knuckles on his jeans. Diesel was one of the extremely rare things they disagreed about.

The look on Sammy's face nearly did her in. "Okay, I give up. You and the boys need a puppy."

"It'll be a Great Pyr, Zo."

"I know," she said as she got out of the truck and opened the passenger door to slip into the back seat and unlatch Abby's baby carrier. Sam reached in behind her to take it.

She looked up into his face, sternly. "Porch only. It'll be porch only puppy. No white furballs in our home, Sammy. And you have to teach the boys how to use that scooper thing to pick up dog poo. I'm not dealing with that, either. You'll need a special vac for the porch, and I am _not _going to lug 50 pound bags of dog food anywhere. That'll be your job."

He smiled. "So you've thought about it."

"Stop smirking. You did not win a fight, it's just . . . it's just . . . it's time."

Diesel was nudging Sam's legs, using his head to push him toward his house.

"We were fighting?"

"You know what I mean."

"I didn't think we were fighting, Zoe."

She held open the door so Sam could go in first with Abby but stopped him with a hand on his arm. "We weren't. Are you done fighting with your daddy?"

"I don't know."

"I know you need to clear the air. Just don't let it stay foggy."

#

#

#

"You went to the beach?"

"Damn, does everyone know my business?" Sam asked with disgust as he slouched down in the leather chair across from David's desk and hoisted one ankle over his knee. "I was gone three days. _Three days_."

"You're not in Miami. It's just your family and friends."

"Good-bye, privacy."

David ignored that surly comment. "They're removing your signs. Saw that on the way in this morning."

"Sam wanted them down."

David pushed the ledger across the desk for Sam and studied the expression on his friend's face, and the small adhesive bandage over his purpling eye, the cut lip and the fresh bruise on his jaw. He guessed what happened.

"When Alex was 15 he, ah, gave me a beautiful black eye. Told me I didn't have single excuse for not marrying his mother when I got out of the VA hospital and came back here. I caught his fist before he connected a second time. I think it surprised him that his old crippled dad could do that."

Sam crossed his arms over his chest, disgusted. "Is this about how I'm screwing up? What now?"

David grinned. "I tell you how I screwed up, hoping you won't do the same. I like Amanda. She's one of the most decent people I've ever known. I really don't understand why she likes you so much."

Sam rested his head on the back of the chair, looked at the ceiling and braced for more advice.

David studied him for a moment. "Thirty years is a long time to abandon a kid."

Sam's gaze dropped and narrowed on his friend's face. "I didn't know I had a kid."

"He didn't know that."

"I know." Sam changed the subject and picked up the elongated ledger and opened it. "So tell me what we're learning about today, professor."

"Leases."

Sam looked down and waited. When David didn't say anything more, he glanced up to find him looking out the window.

"David?"

"Forget this. Go see your son."

#

#

#

Amanda watched the tail lights of Sam's truck disappear around the corner of the drive before tapping the screen on her cell phone to call Zoe. She wanted to talk to her son. In listening to Sam haltingly patch his worries and regrets into a semblance of order, she realized she bore an equal responsibility to right a wrong with their son.

"I'd like to talk to Sam. Can I come to your house?" she asked.

"Where's your Sam?" Zoe wondered.

"He went to see David."

"I'll send him up the hill with Diesel. They're both making me crazy."

Twenty minutes later, Amanda's kitchen door burst open. "You want to yell at me in private about hitting Dad? Is that what this is about? Well, yell away, Mom, because it's not like I could really hurt him with this thing on my arm."

"Hello to you, too."

"Well?"

Even with a cast on his arm, he was tall, menacing and irritated. Someone who was not his mother could have been intimidated by what seemed to be a burst of concentrated fierceness. She put a soft hand on his arm. She wanted to smile, but restrained herself. Really, he did a lot of the same things his father did, but now wasn't the time to mention that.

"Let me take your jacket."

Sam held the door for the dog to come inside, but Diesel ignored the offer and lay down on the back porch step. "So what's this about?"

"Some questions you asked me a long time ago."

Sam closed the door, unzipped his jacket to reveal his arm and the cast on it. She took it and draped it over the back of a chair and smiled.

"Let's see. You were 15 and I was 33," she said with a grimace. "I was standing here." She turned to move next to the double sink. "And you were there. You told me I had to tell you about your father, and you weren't leaving until I did. Remember?"

Sam leaned back into the cabinet and looked down at her. "That was the only day you ever told me anything about him, Mom, except for the CrossAxe stuff and the family graves we visited on Memorial Day and Thanksgiving weekend. How come?"

"I know. That was so wrong of me." Amanda crossed her arms over her growing baby bump and looked down to the floor before she looked back to her son. "I always panicked whenever I thought about telling you anything about him. I didn't tell you much that day, but it seemed to satisfy you, and I was so relieved you didn't ask more. But, I do owe you an explanation and an apology for that. Maybe now that you're an adult this will make more sense. I wish it was different, Sam, but I can't change the past or what I did . . . and didn't do."

Amanda Cross Axe took a deep breath. She opened her heart and turned the pages in the water colored memory book in her mind to take her son back to the first moments she had met his father when she'd been 17 to his 19.

"I can't explain our instant connection or attraction, but it wasn't just . . . hormones, even though this is going to sound like it was. I know you understand, because Shel and I always knew after you and Zoe met each other as children, there would be something more someday."

Her son looked away from her steady gaze then.

She told him everything that happened during those next three years, about the absence of communication, the mistakes she made, Mack, the death of Sam's parents and her father, Sam's explosive temper and her eventual belief that there had been something wrong in that moment that left too much unexplained.

She told him how devastated she had been when he left, and how much she loved the baby boy he had given her, how sad she'd been when he'd left before she could tell him, and how angry she'd been because he'd done that. She told her son how she had been left alone with her love for him and his father and her alternating vacillation between pain and anger for years.

Slowly, she explained the reason she'd finally agreed with David to locate his father was because of her fears for Zoe and him and their children, and the disposition of the CrossAxe property in the event of her death. It had been a sobering thought, and she'd let too much time pass without addressing it.

"There were times that I wondered if I hadn't just dreamed it all, but . . . that's why it was just so strange, having had that discussion with David earlier in the day and then seeing your father standing there. On the porch. I thought I was hallucinating. When he started talking, it was as if the world wasn't rotating right or something. And then he said . . . then he made me angry."

"Yeah, and then you introduced us."

"That went well, don't you think?"

At least Sam could chuckle about that now. "Not for Dad."

There were intensely private moments she'd kept to herself in her story, especially the reason she'd worn his wedding ring on a chain around her neck for so many years but her adult son didn't need those explanations.

"So, Ma," he said with a small grin, "you only knew each other two days before . . ."

She shook her head and smiled softly. "Not even six hours. My dad was away, so we came back here and . . . that bedroom you had as a kid? The same one I had when I was growing up in this house? Those walls have witnessed some firsts, haven't they?"

Amanda turned and looked at her son, but he didn't look away from her. "I knew you left me and Zoe alone that day on purpose."

"I had to. I hated that the reason the two of you didn't talk to each other for so long was because you'd argued about me and your dad. It had been obvious for years how you felt about each other even when you weren't speaking to each other."

"Zoe always believed you loved Dad and Shel loved her mom. I didn't."

Amanda closed the space between them to wrap her arm around his waist. "I know. Can you imagine your life without her now?"

He closed his eyes, briefly. The possibility of losing her had been too recent, too real. "I don't think I'd be able to . . . but then the kids . . ."

Amanda watched as another level of understanding washed across her son's features. "That's why . . . you . . . never . . . "

"It took him 30 years to come back and ask for a divorce. Part of me was always comforted by that, and part of me was angry."

"What changed? Between you?"

"You, Sam. You. You can live with a broken heart, but you can't live without your child. Seeing you changed his direction, and then Jacob and Noah and Zoe and the baby did, too. I think he was in shock. Then he got angry, and he had every right to be angry. I should have let David try to find him for you."

"Yeah . . . I'm sorry, Mom, about that night . . . I knew when I got here and heard the two of you yelling at each other that I should have left, but I couldn't. If you were me, you would have listened, too. Everything between my parents was a mystery to me until then."

"I know," she said. "I'm sorry you heard us, but we needed to . . . understand each other again, and that wasn't . . . hasn't been easy."

"I'd say you've resolved that," Sam said dryly, glancing down his mother's pregnant form.

She shook her head and smiled. "Yes. We've done that. It's strange, but if it hadn't been for what your dad did while he was a SEAL, Sheldon and Zoe wouldn't have moved here. God bless, Shel. He's always helped me. We kept each other company and leaned on each other, and kept each other sane while our respective partners were . . . not here." Amanda sighed. Her story was ending much differently than Sheldon's. "We needed each other's friendship after Sam and Beth left us."

"Yeah, but I don't think Dad . . . "

"I know about that report Zoe ordered on your dad. He told me about it and what was in it, but he didn't want to. He also didn't want me finding out from someone else besides him."

"She thinks it was a secret." He looked away from her then. "Mom, he didn't exactly lead the life of a monk."

"I'm not that naïve, Sam."

"You know . . ." he said with a slight warning tone, but Amanda shook her head.

"No. Some things are just not your business, sweetie. Zoe and I have the same deal about privacy. Understand?"

He smiled, his eyes were warm, his expression was sweet, and those dimples were all his dad's doing. "Thank you." He used his good arm to hug her. "You were right. I wouldn't have understood this when I was 15."

"Zoe would have."

Sam kissed his mother's forehead. "She always did."

#

#

#

Sam found his son at Sheldon's.

It took an hour that could have been abbreviated if Amanda had her phone on. He was almost convinced she did that on purpose.

When he got there, he found the door unlocked. Diesel was lying on the cool stone floor in the kitchen but neither Sam or Sheldon was in sight. He went into the office, reached behind a couple of books and opened the secret door to Shel's bat cave.

Inside, they were seated at the console, headphones on, watching something on video screens. Sam looked over Sheldon's shoulder and recognized what he was seeing.

"Aw, crap."

He moved the lever to close the door and sat down on the couch across from the communications console.

Sam knew they were aware he was there, but weren't acknowledging his presence.

He couldn't hear what they were listening to, and it wasn't necessary. The still images he saw on the screen told him what they were looking at—a screw up. Mission objective was to destroy a weapons shipment intended for the US from a Libyan dealer, but something had gone wrong. Someone got to it before they could.

They had bad intel, and Dunham had been the first to alert them of the problem. He wasn't even working that op; he was scanning secure radio traffic, listening in, monitoring something else a half a world away. He wondered why Dunham had a copy of this op, but then realized it had probably been in his bin of info for his son in the event he never came home. Amanda wasn't the only person who had his back.

Sam remembered he'd run into Fiona that night, too, and sent her sorry little ass back to the boat her brothers were on, but not before she managed to break his nose with a vicious upward jab with the heel of her hand.

What they didn't know until later was the dealer had sold the arms shipment twice, once to the IRA and once to R.J. Buller, the arms dealer who had operated in secrecy for decades, the one he'd finally had the satisfaction of identifying and putting down last year during the same operation that had nearly taken Mike's life. It was Buller's people who had taken exception to the duplicate sale and raised havoc.

Sam had been lost in remembering that op when Shel turned and spoke. "So everything old was new again, wasn't it? It was your team that took down Buller last year. Just a fist, Axe? It worked."

Sam grimaced, glanced at his son and then to Sheldon. "How many rules you planning on breaking today, Shel? That's classified."

"It is. I have permission."

"Yeah? Why are you doing this?"

"Your son doesn't know what you did while you were away from home. I'm shining a light on the dark. You're welcome. Raines and Westen will be here later today. They're running an op from here, and you're officially invited. If Raines hasn't called you, he will."

"An op? From here?" Sam scowled.

"Yeah. I told you. I'm retiring. But I'm having hip surgery first."

"Back up. Op from here? Not an extraction? Where's the intel?"

"Coming with Raines."

"Crap. That's not enough time—"

"Yeah, but you're good with stuff on the fly and so is Westen, and you both know what to expect with this one."

"Who's got it?"

"Peterbaugh and Carnahan. It's Management. The last one."

Sam shook his head. "Last one for now. There's always another."

He glanced at his son who was silently observing their exchange and felt his phone vibrate, picked it up and saw the number. Raines had finally called. Apparently he was the last to be informed. He'd return the call in a few minutes.

Sam blinked then asked his other question. "Hip surgery? When?"

"Four days from now. It's been on the books for a while. I need you to take me to High Point. Zoe's not very happy with me about delaying this, or my plans to have it done there instead of here."

"Yeah?"

"I'm not coming back until I can walk. I have a friend there who's going to help me get to and through rehab."

His son grinned then.

Sam noticed and met Sheldon's gaze. "Does she have a name?"

"Carlee. She's a nurse. I met her at the cemetery. Her husband is buried near my wife. We've spent a lot of time talking since then."

Sheldon changed subjects, pushed himself to an upright position and stood, leaning on a crooked walking stick. "Okay, Westen and Raines will be coming together, wives and baby, too, but Amanda and I have agreed that the Westens are staying with you because I can't do the stairs to your guest room."

"You talked to Amanda?"

"Yeah, why?"

"When?"

"This morning."

"Dammit. I know she does that on purpose."

"What?"

"Turns off her damned phone."

Sam, the younger, laughed.

#

#

#

Amanda and Zoe opened their freezer doors and helped Sheldon with the meal for his guests. His was a house full of conversation, laughter, children, good will and good food. The long planked great table on the opposite side of the fireplace in the great room was flanked by benches, perfect for any size person, from the largest to the smallest. Gabe sat in a high chair with a large garbage bag under it, and Abby was still nursing so Zoe held her on lap, but Sam took his granddaughter so her mother could eat her meal.

Sam watched his son talk to Raines and could see Zoe and Fi were engaged in talking about babies. Raines' wife was talking to Amanda, and Shel and Mike were talking with Jacob and Noah about Powers Ranger characters. Sam could see this was all new material for Mike, and grinned when he caught his interested but confused expression.

He could also see the serious nature of the conversation between his son and Raines and wondered about it, then caught the soft smile Amanda sent his way as she and Raines' wife moved toward Fiona and Zoe and their babies. It looked like all the women were deeply engaged in motherhood conversation.

Sam rose and began clearing the table, taking on kitchen duties. When Amanda joined him, he kissed her cheek and told her he already knew these folks, it was her turn to get to know them, and so she started the coffee and Shel's electric kettle and returned to the great room.

Raines' wife was an interesting woman, and she surprised Amanda soon after the meal ended when she said, "I've always wondered who you were."

Before Amanda could react or formulate a question, the tall, elegant woman explained herself. "I worked with Sam twenty years ago. He's a sweet flirt, but I've always sensed there was someone he never talked about. It's very good to meet you and your son. He is very much like his father, isn't he?"

"In appearance, yes," Amanda said, uncomfortable with the too personal direction the conversation had taken.

"Oh, I do apologize; I don't mean to embarrass you. I seem to have lost my ability to employ some social brakes since last year when I was so ill. I really am happy to meet you, to meet your son and to see that you are making your family grow. When is your baby due?"

"Babies. A boy and a girl. They were a surprise we needed to adjust to," Amanda said dryly. "And our grandsons needed to adjust, too. Noah is _comfuzed,_ as he says."

"Not your son?" she wondered, smiling.

"He's amused, not comfuzed," Amanda said with a soft laugh, glancing to where her son was now talking to Michael, while Raines had joined Fiona and Zoe and their babies.

The evening drew to a natural conclusion when all four children began demonstrating weary behaviors. It was a perfectly timed. Sam pressed start to Shel's dishwasher and left the room. The addition of children to a dinner hour shortened the evening event; Sam and Zoe's children were ready for bed before eight and so was Michael and Fiona's son Gabe. Yet, it was nearly a half an hour later before children were unbuckled and unstrapped from their car seats and escorted to their beds.

With all the activity, Sam had yet to find a moment alone with his son. He'd seen Michael and Raines and their wives visually inspect the injuries to his face and they'd withheld comment. Earlier in the day, Shel had just smiled and shook his head.

What he hadn't expected was this new level of anxiety. He wanted to talk to Sam, and it seemed the kid was going out of his way to avoid that.

If he wanted breathing room, he wanted breathing room

Several hours later, sleep continued to elude him.

Amanda's head was on his shoulder, her soft cheek on his chest. Her baby tummy was pressed against his side, and her arm was around his waist when she raised up to put her hand on his cheek and kiss him there. "It'll be okay, Sam. It will."

He wanted to believe her.

#

#

#

Overnight, a hoar frost appeared and turned Amanda and Sam's hilltop view into a fairyland of white on white on white. As the sun peeked over the ridge, the view was as blindingly radiant as the doorway to heaven must be, and the natural blue hues of the ridges provided a chilling backdrop that wasn't as cold as it looked.

The easily explained mystical phenomenon was nothing more than dew, frozen suddenly, with spectacular results. Ice crystals covered everything outdoors including the rocking chairs on the front porch.

"The last time I saw this I was in Ireland," Michael told Fiona as they looked out on wonderland.

"Me, too," she added.

He glanced down to her and dropped his head to press a kiss to her lips and then one more to the top of Gabe's small head. "Yes, I know. You like it here."

"I like anywhere you are," she said softly as she turned back to the kitchen with their son in her arms.

Frozen crystals covered the front porch and the chairs, but the frozen crystalline dust was easily brushed from the rocking chairs.

A few moments later, coffee cups in hand, Michael and Sam took up sentry positions on the porch while Diesel investigated as the morning come to life. Fi and Amanda were in the kitchen where Gabe was making a loud, gleeful mess of his breakfast. The lad seemed to be specializing in messy eating.

"This is it. Are you ready to end it?" Sam asked Mike. The operation to remove the former CIA operative known as Management was eight hours away.

"That part of it, yes. But there will always be another one."

"Just what I told Shel yesterday."

"Are you okay with your son listening in?"

"I suppose so. Not much I can do; it was Shel's idea. Are you okay with that?"

"He's not a civilian, but . . . it feels out of sync," he said, remembering Amanda's observation during their visit to Miami six weeks earlier.

"Yeah."

"Uh, Sam, before we work this, what happened between you and your son?" Michael turned and caught Sam's dark gaze.

Sam looked down at his coffee, debated with himself and explained.

"I had an old bad memory pay me a visit, an operation Hec and I worked a long time ago, and I wasn't doing well with that, so I left to deal with it. Then Amanda came and collected me. That's the first thing that made him angry, well, except when I first showed up and he put me on the floor for showing up.

"By the time Manda and I got back, he'd gone through a bunch of stuff I'd shipped here from my storage locker and drew some conclusions. I should have come back here a long time ago, Mike. What do the shrinks say? Anger issues? I think my son has anger issues. Do I think that's going to be a problem for later? I don't think so, but I just don't know."

"Okay."

"Shel has been his dad, not me. Yesterday Raines gave Shel permission to let him hear what went on during that Libyan op when Fi broke my nose. He looked at the dates that happened. Know what he said? 'That was my twelfth birthday.' I don't know how to fix a 30 year screw up with my kid, Mike. I'm working on it, but . . ."

Michael finished his coffee and held the cup with both hands. "How did you fix it with Amanda?"

"That's different."

"Was it?"

Sam frowned at him. "Yeah."

Michael shook his head. "Didn't you keep telling her you loved her until she finally believed it?"

Sam looked over at his friend. That was not the kind of thing he'd ever expected to hear Mike say. Maybe a neutral word of understanding. Hearing him say the word _love_ out loud was unsettling. Very un-Mike like.

"Something like that." He thought about that. "Yeah, I guess that's what I did, and that's what you did with Fi. It's what I'm still doing, and you are, too, I guess."

"It ought to work with kids."

"He's not really . . . a kid."

"He isn't? He sure looks like your son."

Sam agreed quietly. "Yeah."

"As long as we keep telling the people we love that we love them, we'll be good. Right?"

Michael hadn't been looking at Sam while they'd had this conversation. He had been staring off across the valley.

"I hope so, Mike."


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

#

#

#

"I think Management's a strange name for a person," Amanda commented, hoping to elicit a response. Any response.

Michael was silent.

Fiona was silent.

Upon their return from Sheldon's, Sam had given her an unexpected and lengthy hug and then a kiss before disappearing with his phone to the front porch. He didn't see her watching him, wondering what had just happened.

They were all worried about something, even though they reported that what they had done was successful. The funereal expressions on their faces told a different story.

She'd had the presence of mind to plan a meal that could wait and rest securely in an oven with a lowered temperature.

Placing a basket of her homemade bread on the table, she sat on the chair next to Sam's, thankful she'd left the radio on and tuned to a favorite FM classical music station.

Perhaps the music would soothe the silent dragon fighters in her midst.

Even her youngest guest was eating as if he sensed his parents' unsettled states. Fiona was gently, methodically spooning pureed vegetables into her small son's mouth between his own attempts to feed himself. She was lost in her thoughts, and Gabe wasn't offering distracting, gleeful noises or sticky giggles tonight.

The sweet boy had been entrusted to Amanda's gentle care for most of the day.

She'd spread a blanket on the floor and talked to him as he pushed himself up on his hands and knees and rocked back and forth. Judging by the light in his darkly lashed, sky blue eyes he'd already grasped the idea that, with practice, he could move forward on his hands and knees. It wouldn't be long before he'd be crawling under his own power, going places. He was much like she remembered her grandsons at that age, a child who was developing his motor skills early and quickly.

When Gabe fell asleep mid-motion, she had to laugh. He'd determinedly pushed himself up on his hands and knees again and again, when all of a sudden, his small arm muscles relaxed and he rolled over, sound asleep. Jacob and Noah had done the same thing at that age. Go, go, go, go then crash mid-motion, lights out, peaceful dreams.

She picked up his sturdy little body and kissed his chubby cheek before putting him in the portable crib near the couch. When he woke two and a half hours later, it had been time for a fresh diaper and a snack. Then, it was back to the blanket on the floor for more rocking on his hands and knees in the quest of moving forward to the brightly colored ball or the squeaky stuffed monkey.

When Sam, Michael and Fi returned an hour ago, Amanda attempted to encourage conversation, but it didn't work then, either.

For a couple of moments after they sat down for the meal, Amanda thought no one heard her comment about Management.

"Oh, he has a name," Sam finally said. "Several of them."

Sam reached for Amanda's hand and squeezed it. He saw the questions in her eyes, but there was no way for him to stop and explain that they were each re-evaluating every word, every moment of the past several hours, looking to see what they missed, analyzing what they had available to analyze.

That kind of thing tended to disrupt polite conversation with a civilian, and that's what Amanda was. He also realized the farther he could keep her away from any part of this, the better he could deal with it.

Michael glanced up at Sam, then Amanda. "This is delicious," he said softly. "Thank you."

The savory chicken, vegetable and rice casserole had infused delicious scents in the kitchen. Michael found himself equating the aroma with the difference between a peaceful life to be lived and the stark, cold reality of working an op from Sheldon's secure enclave.

When they returned five hours after they left, they found Amanda sitting on the floor, encouraging Gabe to crawl toward her, but Fiona scooped him up and hugged him tightly, as if he was in danger of being taken from her.

Michael met Amanda's concerned expression and smiled, then offered his hands to help her stand. "Thank you for watching him and taking such good care of him. We really don't like being away from him."

She smiled. "I understand perfectly. Are you hungry?"

None of them were, but the enticing smells encouraged appetites. Sam set the table while Amanda pulled the casserole from the oven. She added a bowl of homemade applesauce and fresh bread to the meal, and joined her silent dinner partners.

They all understood Amanda's confusion, although no one commented.

Based upon what she'd been told last night, this should have been a celebration but, despite what Raines wanted to convince them had happened, the outcome was incomplete even with Management in custody. There was no reason to alarm Amanda.

Michael laughed when his son provided a brief moment of relief.

Near the end of the meal, Gabe yawned and was startled by the squeaky noise he'd made and giggled. Every adult had to laugh with him.

"I can see no one is ready for dessert, so coffee? Decaf? Tea?" Amanda offered.

"I'll make the tea, Manda," Sam said. "Mike?"

He nodded. "Please."

"And I'm going to give Gabe his bath," Fiona said as she thanked Amanda for the meal, for taking care of her son and her patience. "I think both Gabe and I are too tired right now."

When Michael glanced at her quickly, she reassured him. "This is just normal, first trimester stage of pregnancy tired."

Michael and Sam helped clear the table before retiring to the front porch with their jackets and mugs of hot tea.

By the time Amanda finished kitchen tasks, Fiona and Gabe were ready for bed.

Michael's evening ritual hadn't changed since their recent visit. He still rocked his son to sleep. The rhythmic squeak in the old wooden rocking chair made that a task with a short duration. Fiona and Amanda sat on the couch, talking softly while Sam, still silent, turned channels on the muted television, looking for a weather report.

Within moments, Gabe was asleep and Michael, who had also relaxed while rocking his child, was dozing off, too. Fiona took Gabe from his arms, and nudged him. "Time for bed."

Sam also seemed weary beyond weary, and left to take a shower. He found Amanda folding towels as he came through the laundry room door and dropped the damp towel he'd just used in the empty washer. He put his hands on her shoulders. "Can I help here?"

She nodded and smiled. "No, I'm almost done. You look tired."

"Just a little."

"Whatever you all did today looks like it exhausted you."

"Mmmhum." He kissed her cheek and waited for her to finish then followed behind her, turning off lights.

Upstairs, Michael heard Sam and Amanda's quiet conversation. He glanced over to Fiona and met her dark gaze. Between them, Gabe slept peacefully. Michael faced her, and stroked her arm. "You're really worried."

"You're not?" she asked.

"I don't think anyone is going to come and steal Gabe from us tonight," he said quietly.

"Michael—"

He touched a finger to her lips. "I keep my promises, Fi. I'm not going to leave you and Gabe to do anything for the CIA, even if it involves another Management operation."

She closed her eyes. "I really want to believe that."

"I keep my promises. I may have lost some memory, but I haven't forgotten what I told you the day we were married."

"I may have too many active hormones," she said, attempting to lighten the moment.

"We have a new life now. I like it. Don't you?"

"You still need to have work you like, Michael."

"I've been thinking about that. I may have said no to Sheldon too quickly."

Michael slid out of the bed and carefully lifted his son to put him in the portable crib on the other side of the bed. He covered him with a blanket and waited a moment until he settled.

When he returned, he reached for Fiona, wrapped his arms around her trembling body, and felt her tears wash his chest. She fell asleep to his soft assurances that he loved her, and would keep his promises to her.

#

#

#

On the floor below, Amanda joined Sam in their bed. His hands were behind his head; he was studying the ceiling.

"Penny for your thoughts." She turned off the bedside lamp.

"They're not worth that much."

She snuggled close to him and rested her head on his shoulder. He wrapped one arm around her and turned toward her to caress her baby belly with his other hand, as if he needed to touch her and their unborn children.

This night-time ritual was something she had not completely adjusted to, not after so many years of being alone—to be sleeping with her husband, next to him. She hadn't yet conquered her fear that he could disappear again, and this kind of happiness would be lost forever.

"You won and the bad guy lost, right?"

"Yes, but . . ."

"That's sounds like no, not yes. What happened?"

Sam told her how the man now in federal custody was thought to be the last key player in a team that had disrupted, corrupted and perverted the entirety of American intelligence for decades, and he had played a particular havoc with Michael's life, and consequently everyone whose life intersected with his.

Management was the last of the enemies who'd created so many life-threatening situations for all of them for the past six years. Amanda didn't mention Michael had already shared the lion's portion of the story with her during their trip to Miami. What troubled her was that Sam's perspective was frightening and identical to Michael's.

They'd been dealing with the equivalent of the mythical Greek water beast, he told her. If they severed one head, two grew back. By explaining that, Amanda understood why they were so unsettled. They didn't really believe their last mission was conclusive.

"You're reassessing," she interpreted.

"Yeah."

She rested against him, so close she could hear his strong, comforting heartbeat. She turned to kiss his chest. "I know how it pains you and Sam both to lose someone you fought with, but what I'd like to know is how many people did you save?"

"There's no way to count that."

"Then why fight?"

"It's more about . . . getting back what was lost."

"Is it? Always?"

When he didn't say more, she kissed his chest again, snuggled closer and curved her arm around his middle and whispered. "I love you."

By the time he was able to respond, she was asleep.

It was a long time before he could rest.

#

#

#

Amanda's question teased his consciousness as he drove Mike, Fiona and Gabe to meet Raines and his wife for the return trip to the airport. It was on his mind as he drove Sheldon to High Point. It was with him he returned home five hours later.

During the trip, he and Sheldon discussed yesterday's operation.

"You expected it to end differently?" Sheldon wondered.

"Yes. Maybe."

"You read poetry, Axe?"

The look Sam gave him made that seem doubtful.

"There's a poem I like, and the ending is apropos—_This is the way the world ends, Not with a bang but a whimper._ A guy named T.S. Eliot wrote that after the First World War. You wanted a bang yesterday. You got a whimper. That's why you're unsettled."

"That's not it at all. We told you yesterday, it was his last message. We're not done. We know this guy. _We are not done_."

"You and the Westens need to relax. It's over."

Management had been unpleasantly surprised when Peterbaugh and Carnahan approached from opposite sides. Back-up teams were on either end. They'd stopped him going into a restaurant he'd been known to frequent near Bragg. As soon as he saw them, he knew he was caught, Carnahan reported.

Management gripped his cane and stood still. Peterbaugh was quick to remove the cane before searching him. The cane was a modified rifle, not the collectible post-Civil War version, but a modern, handcrafted, efficiently lethal weapon.

What worried Michael and Sam was his location. Of all the places Management could hide, why had his last five known locations been near large military installations? And this? So close to Sheldon's location? Coincidence? No.

Neither agreed with Raines who contended he'd hid in plain sight on purpose. He was an old man who used a cane or a walker. Who feared someone like that?

"Zip ties _and_ cuffs? I'm not that scary. Hey, who's listening?" Management asked while he was being taken into custody.

"No one," Carnahan said.

Management laughed. "The hell they aren't. Westen? Raines? Axe? Porter? Who's there? You think you've won today, don't you? Think again." And then he chuckled. Loudly.

"It's a bluff," Raines said.

"Are you sure?" Sam asked, after the unpleasant echo of Management's laughter.

Sam watched Mike's jaw clench and heard Fi's small gasp. Raines' wife sat on the couch at the back of the room, observing with Sam. They had been lined up on either side of Sheldon who ran communications console.

"Then what the hell does 'think again' mean?" Mike gritted out in a low voice.

"He's played games in your heads so long, you've given him powers he doesn't possess." Raines challenged him.

"No, we didn't." Sam disagreed.

"Management is out of guns, out of ammo, out of friends, money, resources, everything. It's a bluff. Since Anson started appearing a piece at a time here and there, he's been running scared. If he hadn't moved so often, we might have missed him. He's still playing mind games with all of you. And," he said as he'd leaned back in his seat to slowly appraise the expressions on Mike, Sam and Fiona's faces, "And, it looks like it worked. Hey, Porter," he added, speaking into his mic. "What do you think?"

"I don't have the same history with the man as Mike, Sam and Fi do. They're the experts."

"Well, they're wrong this time," Raines stubbornly grumbled.

"Have we ever been wrong before?" Sam asked quietly.

"Ever?" Fiona added.

Raines had ignored them, and Sheldon sided with Raines' assessment. He'd studied the operational files and history thoroughly.

And, this morning, with his seat extended back as far as it would go in Axe's vehicle to accommodate his long legs, he told him he thought Raines' had earned the right to his attitude.

"If Westen hadn't been hurt so badly, this op might have ended sooner or differently, but it didn't. Raines took on clean-up, so you all get to take credit for pointing him in the right direction. But he's the guy who got you that far."

"Yeah," Sam said, "except he's wrong."

They'd traveled another few moments when Sheldon spoke. "Axe, I need a favor. It's personal."

Sam glanced over at Sheldon. "Sure."

"The odds that something could go wrong with this surgery are really small, but if I don't make the trip home, there's a safety deposit box at First Citizens with my name on, and your name, too. Take a look."

Sam frowned. "What's in it?"

"There are things there for my daughter; a copy of the will and that kind of thing. And, in the event you never made it home, I'd saved some things for your son and put them there. They've got your photo, and your son's. You have first access, he has second. Instead of a signature the bank accepted a code word for access—it's the call sign you used on that op in '92 in Serbia. Remember it? "

"Yeah. But whatever you put there for Sam should probably stay locked up. You've bent a few too many rules."

"You follow rules?" Sheldon challenged.

Sam didn't respond to that.

"Look, Axe. You need a better relationship with_ your_ son."

"Except you've always been his father," Sam said quietly.

"Figure. _Father figure_."

"No. His father. I'm just some guy he looks like." Sam reached over and turned on the radio to end that conversation.

#

#

#

Sam hadn't enjoyed the last conversation he'd had with his son yesterday after everyone cleared out of Sheldon's com room.

Shel had taken one look at him and another at Sam and closed the door behind him. "Don't be long," he'd advised.

Sam spun around in the swiveling seat of the chair he'd occupied. "Well?"

His son hadn't moved. He sat on the leather covered bench seat located across from the communications center and had observed activities in silence. "So, that's what you've been doing?"

Sam frowned. "Ah, yeah. Sort of."

"I mean, since you got kicked out of the Navy."

He frowned at his son again and knew he was being challenged. "I didn't get kicked out. I retired."

"That isn't what you told Mom."

"How—?" And then it struck him how he'd heard that. Damn, but that very first argument he'd had with Amanda months and months ago, the one their son overheard, was coming back to haunt him, piece by piece. He wondered how long this would go on.

His son studied him, and waited.

"I explained it to your mother. She's the only person who really needed to know anything else about that. The rest of it's classified."

"I know. When did you tell her?"

So if his son knew that operation was classified, that meant he'd inquired. Sam studied his son's stark expression. "Why do you want to know?"

"Because I do."

Sam sighed. "I told her not long after I came back, okay? But you already knew about my bad behavior, didn't you? What do you want from me, Sam?"

His son did not respond. He got up from his seat to leave, but stood at the doorway, waiting for him.

"I need to make a call. I'll be right there."

"Who?"

"Jesse, okay? It's personal."

When his son pulled the door shut, Sam dropped his head in his hands before turning around and opening a com line to SecuriCorp.

Damn, he had one job too many. Parent and intel guy. Make that the intel guy who just repositioned the information he'd been shuffling until it gave him a clear picture of what he suspected had been happening.

"Jess? Dani? You two still there?"

"Hey, Sam. What's up?" Dani said. "We were just about to leave."

"Got an idea about why we found Management where we found him."

"Let's hear it," Jess said.

So he told him what he thought. Piece of information here, another there, a word there and the logic of it seemed clear. Verifying his suspicions, though, would take some time, and the unique setting SecuriCorp provided as well as Dani's CIA clearances provided a way to do that.

Dani replied. "Sam, I like it. I_ really_ like it."

"Damn, man. I think you've nailed it," Jess offered.

"Could we keep this low and go slow? If it's what I think it is, we don't need to advertise. Drag Raines in when he gets back, okay? I'm guessing all the phones here will be a party line after we leave Shel's."

"Will do."

Sam left Sheldon's com room to be greeted by a crowd waiting in Shel's office.

"Yo, I wasn't on the phone that long," Sam said, startled to see a room full of people looking at him.

"How's Jesse?" Mike asked, providing the buffer.

With a seamless skill that belied the intuitive working relationship Michael, Fiona and Sam had developed, Fiona read the situation, the flash of expression on Sam's face and smiled. "And is Dani . . . ?"

Sam ran with it and grinned. "Nope. She's not."

Raines wife laughed. "It's too soon anyway. Their little girl is only four months old."

Fiona sighed and put her hand over her abdomen. "But it happens."

Raines' wife laughed, and Raines missed the entire interchange. Sam, the younger, didn't, and neither did Sheldon.

Before Sam left the room, his son stopped him with a hand on his arm. "You didn't need to make that call from a secure com center."

"Yeah," Sam said. "I did."

#

#

#

Sam left Sheldon in the care of a lovely woman who seemed utterly delighted to see her guest arrive.

Except for a couch, table, chairs and a television, her home was barely furnished. She explained that after her husband's death, it had taken her several years to decide to start over, but she had done that, and had recently sold the house she and her husband had shared, as well as most of the furnishings.

"I needed a change, so I made it happen," she said, explaining she was expecting the delivery of some new furniture items while Sheldon was in the hospital.

"Then, he can advise me what to put where while he's recovering," she laughed.

Sam had been amused that Carlee Metcalf and Sheldon were physically complementary humans. Both were tall, fit and each had a mass of silver and grey hair which they tied back at the nape of their neck. Sheldon used a leather strap; Carlee used a tortoise shell clamp.

Sheldon had told him she was a retired Army officer, a nurse, who was in demand particularly for her skills and work in wound care management. And her interest in Sheldon, and his in her, he said with a smile, was purely personal.

By the time Sam made the return trip home and pulled into his driveway, the question Amanda posed last night visited him again. How many people had they saved?

He'd only ever counted how many people he had lost.

Maybe Shel was right.

Maybe Amanda was, too.

He took a deep breath.

Maybe he should start looking at the glass as half full instead of half empty.

#

#

#

Zoe's SUV was parked near the back door. Inside the kitchen the entire Sam Axe the younger's family was gathered around a jumbo white puff of soft fine hair surrounding a clumsy puppy. Amanda held a roll of paper towels, Zoe was holding her tiny daughter, and Diesel had secluded himself behind Amanda's legs in the doorway between kitchen and living area. He was watching the puppy with haughty disgust.

Jacob and Noah were discussing names. "It hassa go with Axe," Noah said.

"Hey, Dad, what's an axle?" Jacob wanted to know.

"It's a central shaft for wheels, like on a car or a truck," Sam said. He was kneeling on the floor next to his sons, petting the puppy.

"Like diesel is a kind of truck?"

"Yes."

"Then let's name him Axle."

"What do you think, Noah?" Sam asked his youngest son. "Is Axle a good name for a dog?"

Noah shook his little head side to side. "Axwell Axe? No."

Jacob knelt next to his brother. "Do you still want to call him Snow?"

"Is he Axle or Snow?" Zoe asked.

Jacob and Noah looked at each other, and Jacob answered. "We'll let you know, Mom."

When it was time to go, Sam helped Zoe get everyone situated in the SUV, which was much trickier with the addition of the boys' car seats next to the baby's seat. Sam was in the front with a puddle pad on his lap and his free arm wrapped around a wiggling Great Pyrenees puppy.

"I must have rocks in my head," Zoe muttered to her father-in-law. "That mutt grows while I'm looking at him. Just what we need. A puppy. I don't know what I was thinking."

He kissed her forehead and reached to open the drivers' door for her. "You're a good woman, Zoe Axe."

Before he could open the door for her, she put her hand on his. "You're just glad your dog came home."

Sam smiled. "That, too."

"Have you and Sammy fixed things with each other?"

"Working on it, Sunshine."

Last night after they'd returned to the house, Sam had stepped on the front porch with his phone to call his son. The issue with Management and Raines aside, the unpleasant little scene with Sam in the privacy of Sheldon's com room weighed heavily on him.

As soon as Sam answered his phone, he went straight to the heart of things. "Look, why don't you make a list of all the things I've done wrong, or you think I've done wrong, and we'll go over them one by one—away from our wives. All right?"

"Ah, just a minute," Sam said as he removed himself away from the family noises he could hear in the background.

"It'll make it easier. I really hope you never screw up your life, Sam, the way I've screwed up mine. I'm trying to fix things."

"You're not any good at that. That's what Zoe says."

Sam had to smile. "She said that?"

"She didn't like the signs, either."

"She told me."

"Hey, Dad . . . no list, okay? You want me to be patient with you, well, you need to do the same thing for me. Besides, Mom likes you for some reason."

"I don't know why everyone is so surprised by that." Sam laughed, then and felt tears roll down his cheeks.

Dammit. Ever since the day Mike finally remembered Fiona and turned on the water works, he'd learned that he could still weep, too. In the last six months, it seemed like that was all he'd done—turn into a blubbering mess, for one damned thing after another.

He walked to the end of the porch and leaned a shoulder against one of the upright columns and looked over the valley slowly being hidden as night fell. He inhaled cold, damp air and wiped his face with the palm of his hand. "I love your mother, Sam, and I love you, and I don't . . ."

Sam interrupted him. There was a catch in his voice, too. "I love you, too, Dad. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

#

#

#

After Zoe backed out of the driveway and headed down the hill to their house, Sam returned to the kitchen. He heard Amanda on the phone in the bedroom and noticed her cell phone on the counter. He picked it up and examined it.

He'd tried calling her several times today, but he could only leave message. As he scrolled options on her phone menu he realized she'd picked up every message he'd left but hadn't called him back.

Taking the phone with him, he walked to the bedroom door and waited for her to finish her call.

He held the phone between his fingers and was frowning.

"What's wrong?" She was standing next to the landline phone on the bedside table, her hands were on either side of growing baby belly, smiling. Her feet were bare and her hair was up again in that curly mop at the top of her head.

"Why do you do this?" he wondered. "You turn off your phone, mute the ringer or ignore my calls, but you take everyone else's calls."

"I don't ignore your calls."

Sam blinked, heard what she said but, inexplicably, was completely, immediately distracted—as if he was making a diopter adjustment on a binocular to compensate for differences in the vision of each of his eyes before adjusting the central focus knob.

The image cleared into sharp definition.

Every lovely thing about Amanda came into crisp, clear focus. He was holding his breath, taking in each aspect of this adorable woman who had been his wife for so many wasted years but, in reality, would never be long enough.

If pregnancy was compatible with mischief then that's what he was seeing, sparkling in sapphire blue eyes intent on teasing his frustration. Sweet. Little. Ornery. Beautiful. Woman.

He smiled at his heart-stealer who, without any effort, was, turning him into silly putty. She preferred his shirts during her pregnancy and was wearing a baby blue shirt over a pair of form fitting pants that only came half way up her legs. With the sleeves of the shirt rolled up and the shirt only partially buttoned to reveal the perfectly curved crevice between her breasts she looked like she could have been in her twenties, much too young and innocent to be with him.

She crossed the room and put her hands flat against his chest. "Do you feel okay? You look . . . funny."

He folded her into his arms. He didn't have words to explain the depth of his feelings for her, but he closed his eyes and held her until his brain cells righted themselves and he felt coherent, a moment that arrived soon after his lips touched hers and lingered.

Soft. Warm. Sweet. He lowered his head to press another kiss on that delicate heart-shaped birthmark before pulling back to see her face, his arms still around her, hers on his.

"I missed you, too," she said, tugging his hand until he backed up into their bed and sat down.

"Oh, no," he said when he understood her intent. "This isn't a good idea. It is, but—"

She stopped and looked into his face, and slid her hand up his arms to across his shoulders and the back of his head. "Please, yes, Sam. In just a few weeks we won't be able—" She touched his lips with hers again.

A kiss that began so sweetly, so gently, gradually changed nature. Sam felt his heart thud in his chest as he pulled away and looked into Amanda's eyes. Her cheeks were flushed and he couldn't stop himself from kissing his way down the curve to her chin and back again. He stopped and held his breath and waited for her to open her eyes. "I don't want to hurt you. I can't."

"We're not doing that again, are we?"

"That's not what I meant."

"I know."

What followed were long, lingering moments, blanketed by warmed, flowing honey spread across a shared, abiding love.

They couldn't know it, but this night would be the last that they would be able to share in this kind of peace for a long, long time.

When their needs were tenderly sated and they lay next to one another, suspended in a familiar bliss they recognized from so long ago, Sam could think clearly again. And then he remembered what he'd asked.

"Manda," he said softly against her neck. "Why do you turn off your phone and not take my calls?"

She wiggled until she could look directly into his eyes, face to face, soft breath next to soft breath, bare chest to bare chest. "I have a latent disorder," she said with a teasing smile and wide-eyed innocent blink or two.

He smiled, questioning. "_You_ have a latent disorder?"

"Mmhuh. I do."

"What kind?"

"I've had it so long, it's part of me now. It's the take-a-deep-breath disorder."

Sam almost laughed, but then he realized the underlying seriousness of what she'd said. "I don't think I've heard of it."

"Sometimes it's confused with the not-jumping-to-conclusions disorder."

"Is it?"

"Mmhuh."

"I don't understand."

Her voice was slow and soft. "A long time ago, if you would have taken a deep breath and paused, we probably wouldn't have spent so long apart. Who knows how many children or grandchildren we'd have by now."

"Oh." He felt his heart divide itself into two, closed his eyes and pressed a kiss to her lips. "I'm so sorry."

She put her hands on his warm cheeks and waited for him to open his eyes. She was laughing at him. "I've been waiting for you to ask. At first, you annoyed me about using my phone, keeping it on so I could always be accessible and convenient to you. Then I realized I'd always wanted the same thing, and that it really annoyed you when my phone was off. So I turned it off or silenced the ringer. You're fun to frustrate."

He smiled. "I'm fun to frustrate?"

"Once, I would have given anything to be able to talk to you, to tell you about Sam, and no matter what I tried, I couldn't find a way to do that. I wanted you to understand my frustration, and not answering your calls was the easiest thing I could think of."

"Oh, damn."

Amanda kissed away the regrets on his face.

#

#

#

The morning found them sharing slow kisses which led to much more than kissing, which led to a poor decision to share a cramped shower and silliness.

"We're too old for this sort of thing," Amanda giggled. Sam steadied her to keep her from slipping as she stepped out of the shower and reached for a towel.

"We're not too old. You're too pregnant," he said from the shower generously sized for one, not two.

"That's your fault."

"Uhuh, ours," he laughed.

"Nope, yours. If you hadn't come back . . ."

Over the sound of a humming vent fan removing steam and moisture from the air and water spraying from a showerhead positioned to accommodate Amanda, not someone over six feet tall, Sam heard her voice catch.

He quickly turned off the water, stepped out and reached to enfold her in his arms and saw exactly what he expected to see. The tone of her voice matched the anguished expression in her eyes and on her face. "If I hadn't come back, no one would have rescued me from myself. I need you, Amanda."

She curved her arms around his waist to rest her cheek on his damp chest.

He was wet, head to toe, and now she was, too. She tilted her face up to look into his eyes. Tears streamed down her cheeks and seemed to embarrass her. "I have too many hormones in my body right now. What's your excuse?" She pushed away from him, sniffed and brushed at the tears on her face, before reaching for the damp towel that had fallen to the floor.

"I'm in love with my wife."

He watched her close her eyes and hold her breath.

Sam dropped his head to kiss her gently, and then held and rocked her in his arms until they were both much steadier. Everything else in the world became so much less important in those few minutes.

From the moment he stepped back on the front porch of his home, and back into his marriage, Sam realized the most earth-shattering things in his life had occurred in the most ordinary of moments.

Amanda was having as much trouble with emotional stability as he was, so she used moment to warn him that this kind of privacy and togetherness would be a thing of the past when their twins arrived.

"Parenthood now is going to be . . . different."

"It will be," he said softly. "This time I'll be here."

#

#

#

Sam and Amanda's smiles disappeared during breakfast when Zoe called.

"Daddy didn't answer his phone last night, and he's not answering this morning and I'm worried. I don't know this woman he's staying with and he's been so secretive about her, that I just can't help stop worrying. It just feels wrong. Sammy's daddy, can you help?"

"Sure, sweetie. He's not answering at all?"

"Not me or Sammy. We've both called."

"Manda and I'll try, too, and I'll head back to High Point. Okay?"

"Thank you. I'm really worried about him."

Amanda and Sam both tried calling. Sheldon wasn't answering his phone. And he wasn't the type of person who wouldn't talk to his daughter, even if he was romantically preoccupied.

Sam heard the first of several warning bells chime. But Amanda's sweet company momentarily distracted him.

"Do you want to come along?" he asked.

"Yes," she smiled, then bit her lip and frowned. "No."

"No?"

"I just remembered. I have a doctor's appointment at two. I need to stay here."

"If I call, will you answer . . . please?"

She grinned. "Yes. I promise."

Sam continued to try to contact Sheldon while on the road with the same result—no response. A second warning bell chimed and this time, he listened. He called Mike.

"Hey, Mike. Good trip home? Yeah? Hey, is Raines still there? No? Might have a situation here with Sheldon." He took a moment and explained why he thought that. "Yeah, I'd appreciate whatever you can do. I'm on my way to High Point to check it out."

The final warning bell turned into a bleating, screeching alarm when Sam pulled into the driveway of the house where he'd left Sheldon yesterday and saw the front door slightly ajar.

He opened his cell and called Mike while he scanned the neighborhood for homes and cars. He pulled his .45 from under the seat, then called Mike again. Sam knew he needed to be talking to someone as he entered the home.

He used his gun to push open the door the rest of the way, and glanced into the room. He studied everything before him—the bodies, the weapons, the open patio door off the kitchen.

Kneeling down, he checked Sheldon for a pulse; he groaned softly. He had a head wound, but not from gunshot, but he'd been shot in the leg. Sam ended his call with Mike and was dialing 911 as he checked Carlee; she was also alive but barely; her pulse was extremely faint and slow. She had a chest wound, but he didn't want to move her; he had no life-saving equipment and EMTs did.

As he described the situation and was asked by the operator if he was an EMT, and he said, no, and to hurry. As soon as he hung up, he called Raines, left a message, then called his son and explained what he'd found.

He told his son the scene looked as if this had happened shortly after he'd dropped him off last night. It had every appearance of a home invasion. It wasn't.

"You all said it wasn't over," his son said. "What—"

In the distance he could hear sirens. "When we get to the hospital and I know more, I'll call."

As soon as he ended that call, Raines called. Sam knew he could hear the sirens, too.

"Can you stay there until our team gets there?" Raines asked.

"You were wrong. It wasn't over. Shel might be paying the price."

"Are you staying or not?"

"I'm going to the hospital with my son's father-in-law. Your employee."

"You're my employee, too," Raines pointed out.

"Contractor. And I just retired."

Sam ended that call in the middle of Raines' swearing at him.

#

#

#

Sam didn't know or care when Raines had arrived in High Point, but he did care when his family arrived.

He was happy to see Sam and Zoe, but the woman he wanted to put his arms around wasn't there. She was back at the extended stay hotel with travel weary grandchildren, fixing them food and overseeing bedtime preparations.

Amanda and Zoe had taken turns driving Zoe's truck; Sam was frustrated with his cast and his inability to help. They parked Diesel and the puppy at the veterinary clinic for boarding. Sam had spent so much time on his phone, the battery had died. He laughed when it did and wondered if Amanda might consider this amusing.

Relief washed over him when he saw Zoe and Sam arrive.

Sheldon was out of surgery and in recovery, and the surgeon was busy explaining that the traumatic injury to Sheldon's brain was not the current cause for concern; he asked several questions and turned and left quickly.

"What happened?" Sam asked.

"We told him about Zoe's blood sugar and blood pressure problem when Amanda was born," Sam explained, watching as Zoe was biting her lip. "He thought that was important information and left."

"Did anyone tell you how that woman, Carlee, is?" Zoe wondered.

"I asked before you got here; she was out of surgery and in recovery."

Sam reached into his pocket and pulled out a key card and handed it to his father. "Mom's with the kids. You can see the hotel from the main entrance. It's right across the street at the light."

"Go," Zoe said. "We're fine here."

He didn't wait, and it probably was good thing because as soon as he entered the hotel room, he found Amanda standing in the kitchenette, holding onto a countertop with both hands, gasping for air.

"Aw, damn, Manda, what's—" His gaze followed hers to the floor. "Oh, no." He reached for his phone and then realized he couldn't use it. "Where's your phone, honey?"

He'd dealt with thousands of life-changing emergent situations during his career, but this was unlike anything else. He heard the edge of panic in his voice and tried to quell it.

Amanda took a sharp breath on an inhale and pulled it out of her pocket. "Ah—"

"Let's get you," he looked around quickly, "a chair. Yeah, a chair."

She laughed a bit. "No. No. I don't need to sit down, I need a hospital bed, I neeeeeeed . . . I need to go to the hospital, Sam. I'm fine, just—call . . . aaaah . . ."

He was having trouble figuring out how to make a simple on on her phone, and was elated when Sam's picture popped up so he could call him. "I need you guys back here, and I need to get your mom to the hospital. Her water broke."

He was trying to hold on to her, to make sure she wouldn't fall.

"Oh, no. It's way too early for Mom," Sam said. "We're on our way, Dad."

"Hurry. Your mom needs to be there, not here. Hurry, please!"

#

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_Three Weeks Later_

Raines was patiently waiting for his phone to ring, reviewing the files awaiting his signature for closure.

Management's file remained open.

The home invasion that nearly stole Sheldon Dunham's life from him wasn't a home invasion. It was a hit.

Unsuccessful, but a hit. Probably ordered by Management, but he wasn't talking.

Investigation of the crime scene revealed the retired Army officer Dunham was visiting had fired on the intruders, and had hit both of them before they fled the scene. Her handgun was missing, but both intruders had been located and arrested by local police.

Metcalf and Dunham remained hospitalized from wounds that had nearly taken their lives.

Maybe he'd understand more of the story as soon as one of them was healthy and alert enough able to tell him what happened.

The enormous web that had been all but destroyed prior to Management's arrest contained a scattering of active, lethal spiders.

The CIA was swatting and stomping on this bunch as fast as they could, thanks to a question posed by retired SEAL intelligence specialist, Sam Axe CDR, USN (Ret).

Raines had hoped this particular war ended with Management's capture. It didn't, as was predicted by the Westens and Axe.

The last battle to subvert, sabotage and infiltrate every level of American intelligence by a large, clandestine organization had begun years before any of them were born. He wanted to be the man who sealed the tomb, and not for a promotion as Axe had accused him of wanting, though there was some truth to that, but because he was damned tired of the bad guys being one step ahead of the good guys.

After the Santa Domingo fiasco last year, Raines had quickly been made aware of Michael Westen's inability to continue working the op that removed Anson. Of course, it had been Anson and Management who had arranged for Westen's burn notice, even though the man had paid dearly to clear his name. The life-threatening nature of Westen's wounds, successive infections and lengthy hospitalization, changed everything.

Westen had been on a medical leave months before Raines realized Sam Axe was intervening, with standard CIA psych and medical evals. Getting to Westen meant he had to go through Axe and despite their past working relationships, that wasn't happening. Axe had turned into Papa Bear in regard to his friend.

Axe had also devised his own unique therapies for his friend. Raines couldn't argue with success. But he wanted to. Axe told him when Westen was healthy enough to make his decisions, he'd bow out, and he'd done exactly that and had gone home to North Carolina and now had no plans to leave.

Like Westen, Axe had become less and less and less manageable.

Raines wanted Westen back and in his lethal mode, but that status had been permanently altered by choice after his marriage and the birth of his son. Now, he and his wife were expecting again.

"Sir?" his assistant asked. "Your conference call is waiting. It's Westen, Axe and Porter."

"Which Porter?"

"Dani, but probably both of them."

Raines hit the conference call button on his phone and increased the volume.

"Okay, hello, all. I'm in my office. Tell me where you are," Raines began.

"I'm in Amanda's room at hospital," Sam said.

"And you get all four of us from Mike and Fi's place," Jesse said.

"You're teaming up on me."

Jesse agreed. "You know how it goes."

"Fiona, how are you feeling?"

"Pregnant," she replied.

He sighed.

"Dani?"

"I'm fine. Not pregnant. Currently."

Raines chuckled. "I'm on a roll. Axe, how's Amanda?"

"She's fine. The twins are fine. Are we done with the family report? I thought this was a update."

"It is. You were right, Axe. He had contractors inside each facility that was testing some portion of the weapon. It looks like they were trying to piece the work together and steal it. That would have given him a new start in arms dealing."

It had only recently become known outside military circles that military labs had begun quietly testing laser-guided lightning weaponry. It had the ability to hit large targets as well as unexploded roadside bombs, ideal conductors of electricity. The technology had worldwide use implications not only for saving American lives, but for ridding war-torn countries of lethal undetonated devices after the battles had moved elsewhere or ended. Taming Mother Nature could be one of the most powerful tools in the military's arsenal.

"How many bases were involved?" Axe wondered.

"As you thought, five so far, and there may be another."

"Good to know. Thanks for the update, Raines."

And with that, Sam Axe ended the call and exited his career with the CIA. He was done.

Raines wasn't happy, but this wasn't a new state of affairs.

His second most valuable employee in Miami, Dani Pearce Porter wasn't any more manageable than Westen or Axe, not that he blamed Jesse Porter for trying to lure them to SecuriCorp with tantalizing job offers.

Ultimately, it had been Porter and his wife who ferreted out the last bit of information needed to locate Management's operators—all private contractors working as paralegals or IT specialists—from Bragg to Homestead.

As tragic as it was, without the attempt on Dunham and his lady friend's lives, they might have spent months searching for a way to find Management's sneaky spiders who were macerating information on the laser-lightning weapons system as fast as they could.

"Is that all you wanted to tell us?" Michael asked.

"Yeah, except to ask when you're coming back. That goes for you, too, Dani."

"We're going to have to talk the next time you're in town," Michael said.

"Dani?"

"Ah, she'll be there with Mike," Jesse said.

"I've already got Axe's response, so are you telling me you're retired, too?"

"Next time you're in Miami, we'll talk," Dani said.

And then Raines' line went dead.

"Damn."


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

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_June, Five Years Later_

"Daddy, wake up."

Emily sounded worried.

A small chorus of "sssshussses" followed her question.

"He's okay, sweetie," Amanda said quietly. "We'll wake him soon."

Sam was lying prone on a beach on the Outer Banks in Duck, North Carolina, surrounded by children, sand and water.

Ten children were currently scooping, patting, digging and covering his body with sand. Not every child here belonged to him, yet each was indelibly connected to his heart.

He was a truly happy man, but arriving at that state of affairs had been a process of evolution that began when he decided he wanted something _more_ in his life than just being good buddy Sam.

_More_ translated into _who._

Of course, he had that wrong before he got it right.

_Who _was Amanda, the woman who'd foolishly married him, foolishly stayed married to him and then, rescued him from his past.

He was no longer a man without his own family.

Sam felt Em's small, sweet hands pat his cheeks, the barely visible part of his face, most of which was hidden under the navy USN baseball cap he'd snugged down over his eyes, to block the sun. Now she was brushing sand away from his shoulder and depositing a small kiss there.

He had lost track of how many times each of his three children and three grandchildren had tenderly broken his heart and repaired it with a loving gesture in the same heartbeat. Of course, some of his namesake's gestures had left well deserved bruises, long since healed.

When she was three, Emily decided the golden eagle wings on the Trident insignia tattooed on his shoulder were angel wings. Now that she and Ethan were five, she firmly believed the wings gave her daddy angel powers.

Any other explanation of the Trident was unacceptable. She'd convinced her brother that's what the picture on Sam's shoulder meant.

"You have good angel wings, Daddy, not like the bad angels," Ethan solemnly agreed.

Considering how many trips to clinics and hospitals his youngest son had endured since his birth, Sam figured Ethan had a better grasp of bad angels than other children. Emily and Ethan constantly made him aware of things adults missed so he'd learned to give their concerns careful, vigilant attention.

Still, the idea of good angels and bad angels had a source. It might have been something Father Hector said when he visited, or something they'd heard during mass. Or it could have been something as simple as every time an angel spoke to a human, the greeting began "do not be afraid."

That was something Sam said to his children. Often.

He was not afraid of dealing with bad angels or bad people, but he'd permanently retired, which didn't mean he would walk away from a fight if presented with one. Some things were always worth fighting for—his family, his friends, his country.

The tattoo he'd labeled himself with reminded him, from time to time, he'd traveled a long way to come home.

His personal history with that tatt was typical of many tattoos. He'd been drinking heavily then, sometime after Panama, but where in Virginia Beach he obtained it was something he had no clear, or any, memory of.

"When did you get this?" Amanda had asked him before the twins were born. Their bedroom windows were open, and they were being soothed by the sound of ocean, wind and peaceful, intimate, uninterrupted hours together. They had been at the beach house, lying in bed, talking, when she pressed her lips to his shoulder and outlined the image with a soft touch. He didn't have the tattoo when they were first married.

"It wasn't long after I left here. That's all I can remember." At the question her eyes, he'd explained. She was the only person he admitted the telling tale to. "A lot of tattoos appear with the assistance of alcohol. A lot of alcohol."

"I've heard. So you did this for the men you lost, your teammates."

That long ago day, when he had woken, he realized his arm hurt. He had wobbled, not quite sobered yet, into a bathroom to look at the source. The moment he saw it, he knew why and for whom it was for. That Amanda understood so quickly, so easily, bruised that thing inside his chest for wasting so many years neglecting her love. Slowly, word by word, gesture by gesture she had restored his heart and helped him heal wounds he'd long ignored. Amanda was the only woman knew all his flaws, his past, his mistakes, his bad habits and inabilities.

Amanda, who had always loved him.

In the turmoil following her admittance for emergency Caesarian surgery for their twins at 30 weeks, which was much, much too soon for them to be in the world, he stumbled into another buried memory.

He'd closed his eyes and had rested his head in his hands. He was in the waiting room outside the surgical suite, attempting to control the panic squeezing his heart and threatening to collapse his airway. He reached for a skill he'd learned years ago to keep acute anxiety at bay, to find a place of calm and hold on to it. He didn't use it often, but each time had been because of a frighteningly memorable event.

With three very precious lives at risk, he sought that small, familiar, comforting sapphire blue peace he'd carried with him for years, a mental place of rest where he could find clarity. He'd reached for that internalized lifeline for decades, always when he needed a strong rope to hold him safely.

He opened his eyes when he felt a presence next to him. It was his son studying him with his mother's eyes.

Until then, Sam had not understood his source of inner calm was not the reflection of cloudless sky above deep water, but the color of Amanda's eyes.

That exact shade of blue that had flashed through the dreamscape in his mind, would never still long enough for him to examine until he was forced to accept the reality that he could lose her and their infants within the hour. He only knew he could not continue breathing if he lost her, this small woman who was his safe place, his true north, the woman whose steadfast heart had drawn his wayward soul home.

After he'd first returned and she'd spoken of wanting for 30 years, that had encompassed so much more than he'd ever could have imagined.

Now, when he looked into Amanda's beautiful eyes he could only see love and, often, teasing mischief or watchful humor.

His dear, sweet wife took great pleasure in laughing at him, poking fun at him and keeping him humble. He loved her for that, too.

This past year had brought so many changes. They were finally at a place where they could relax and breathe easily. Their day to day lives had focused entirely on their children and their health until earlier this year when the appointment schedules became paced by the month instead of by week or day.

Sam planned to take a nap, but like so many things in his life, his plans didn't always work out the way he'd intended.

This early summer afternoon found him lying in the sun near the enormous umbrella Amanda insisted upon purchasing.

It was always a feat of transport to drag that ridiculous pink and purple umbrella from the house to the beach, but that was accomplished with help from Nate's Charlie, now a sturdy 9 year-old; Jacob, who just turned 11 and was equally strong; Noah, who would be 9 soon, and was as much of a tough competitor as Gabe who kept telling people he was seven, not six, when his mother wasn't around to hear him.

Ethan was still going a slow after a new problem with his lower back appeared, but that hadn't dulled the five-year-old's desire to help his older nephews and not so kin cousins.

His challenge was congenital. _T__alipes equinovarus_ was more commonly known as club foot. He'd been through every single step to correct the birth defect, and had delivered his parents lesson after lesson in courage, patience, kindness and humility.

Sam's youngest son was one of the bravest soldiers he knew.

In the days immediately after Emily and Ethan were born and encased in windowed plastic boxes, their tiny bodies wired and plumbed and nourished and monitored and warmed, the same days during which Amanda was being treated for a daunting list of problems, not the least of which was an acute infection of the peritoneum and all the related frightening possibilities, Sam discovered he could say prayers he thought he'd forgotten.

He found himself in water he'd never seen—too wide to fathom crossing, too deep to fathom submersion. For the first time in his life, prayer was his only lifeboat.

It hadn't always been so, even when he'd been in the company of those who understood the simple but complex idea that prayer was—his team mate, his friend, now the priest.

He'd worn his full dress uniform to Hector's ordination in Rome.

Perhaps because he'd subconsciously buried the pain of losing eight men, he had very consciously buried much of his memory of that day, especially the shattering visual image of his friend, postrate, face down on the floor in supplication, as the litany of saints sought God's mercy and intercession in lives of those who would serve others.

It had been one of the most emotionally uncomfortable things Sam had ever done, to witness that kind of surrender, but he'd done it because Hector had asked him to come. Sam would not take communion because he had declined reconciliation for so many years. After the ordination mass, he worked his way through the crowd to make his presence known to his friend. As soon as they made eye contact and shared a smile, Sam saluted him and left.

He had to leave. He couldn't get enough air in his lungs.

The opulent homage and smells and bells and multiple images of sacrifice unnerved him. He understood sacrifice as a soldier, not sacrifice of this caliber of surrender.

He remembered alcohol had been involved later in the evening, after he'd changed and traveled miles away. That alcohol had been consumed alone, a method which had never served him. He remained unsettled because the man, his teammate who once understood, now wore a clerical collar, would carry a breviary, and no longer indulged in forgetting. Instead, he had been empowered to forgive.

It would be years before he would see Hector again.

They reconnected at a VA medical center in Miami, of all places, and their friendship quickly restored itself. But, on a personal level, Sam stayed in the superficial shallows of renewed acquaintance where it was safe.

It hadn't been until one of Hector's early visits with Michael during his ASD recovery, when emotion hovered too near the surface, that Sam had fumbled to admit to his former SEAL team mate why he did not stay that day of his ordination. Hector knew, and had understood.

The first time Amanda had been admitted to the hospital following that freakish accident was when he learned she had joined the church as had their son after his marriage to Zoe.

These days, it was not uncommon to find father and son sitting next to each other near the front of the church. Two broad shouldered men, either by themselves or each next to a petite woman and a number of small, bobbing heads of children changing seating positions.

Had someone told Sam five years ago, he would find faith as the cement for the broken, cracked places of his relationship with his oldest son, he would not have believed that.

Amanda had gone into labor and their twins were born prematurely, a circumstance stress-triggered by the attempt on Sheldon's life. It was almost a week later when Sam's son knew he needed help. His father needed his brothers. He'd found his mother's phone and called Michael Westen.

He told him what had transpired, and explained that he now was as worried about his father as his mother. "I think my dad needs to see you guys. Please."

Mike and Jesse had flown to High Point, and they brought along a friend Mike thought they needed— the priest who was very happy to meet the younger Sam Axe whom he'd spoken with several times in the past month.

Despite advice to the contrary, Sam had wrapped himself in guilt.

And he wasn't about to explain that to anyone because he'd already gritted his teeth and shoved personal privacy to the side to ask the doctor if the intimacy he and Amanda shared the previous night was the primary reason this had happened. The doctor explained his was a typical husband question, but no. Amanda's situation was prompted by a combination of complications of an over age 50 pregnancy timed with a stressful situation concerning another family member. That didn't mean Sam would stop beating himself up about that, and he wasn't about to shine a light on that for anyone.

He only left Amanda's room to visit the neonatal intensive care unit to see their children. His oldest son continued to suggest that he should rest. Sam continued to ignore him. He'd returned to the hotel room to shower and change into clean clothing Amanda had packed for him when she packed their bags, believing they would be focused on Sheldon's recovery.

The moment he realized the clean t-shirt in his hands was one she'd packed for him he'd crumpled with pain.

When Sam finally took his son's advice and agreed he needed rest, he'd only gone as far as the hospital chapel.

It was there, in the silence of that small place of prayers, with his infants in a neonatal intensive care unit and his wife in the intensive care unit, that Sam's priest friend found him resting with his head bowed and his eyes closed.

After a quiet conversation, his friend became his confessor, absolved his sins and sought his promise of penance by taking care of his family. The relief and release Sam encountered couldn't be measured. He'd received communion and, finally, later that day, would be able to sleep, to rest. Before he left with Mike and Jesse, the good priest anointed Amanda and spoke with her and then anointed their infants, using the ancient rite seeking intercession and grace for their healing.

Sam prayed constantly, asking for Amanda's return to health, waiting for the tiny perfect humans they had created to breathe easily. He'd found tears on his cheeks more often than not. Within days after Hector's visit, their twins began breathing more comfortably, and Amanda's infection cleared and she regained her normal blood pressure, heart and respiratory rates as well as her smile.

Heavenly intervention or the result of an a course of treatment? Sam believed since the Creator created all things, science and God worked hand in hand. Other concerns, however, required his active, human involvement.

He'd questioned every doctor he could find in the neonatal unit about Ethan's foot. That was how he'd learned that the condition, which often appeared in families as a genetic anomaly, possibly could have been the result of an injury, such as the accident she'd been involved with during the first stages of her pregnancy.

Following her surgery, Amanda was not able to hold or see her infants, a situation which brought anguish for Sam. By the time she would be able to see them, he wanted to give her good news about Ethan's condition. And, he'd found it.

With the bracing method of treatment, the long term effectiveness was comparable to non-affected children. Surgery could be avoided. That had been the best of good news. The physician who delivered their infants told him an excellent specialist had recently relocated to their hometown, and before the end of the day, Sam had contacted him.

That's when Sam saw the Lord worked in mysterious ways. Several months before he'd decided to return to North Carolina, Amanda had approved a CrossAxe loan for the clinic. Ethan's first cast was put on before they left the hospital to bring the twins home, nearly 10 weeks after their birth, on their once official due date.

This past year, Ethan looked as if he could continue to grow with legs and feet that would be as perfect as his twin's. Sam and Amanda often found themselves biting back their panicked words as Ethan's muscles strengthened, and he jumped or ran with a near-normally shaped foot and leg now. They did not want anything to impede the progress he'd made.

Their child, of course, ignored their worried expressions and acted like any healthy, happy five-year old, which was exactly what they'd wanted.

There was one exception to Ethan's behavior.

His mother took a stern stance on the superior officer attitude he'd developed.

Physical inability combined with his father's desire to help or indulge his son in any way he could had some negative side effects. Amanda's youngest son had a bossy attitude only she would address.

Sam couldn't bring himself to use the same approach Amanda did. The casts, the pain, the struggle Ethan dealt with burdened him more than his child. Although, he could see Amanda's point. The toughest officer on the family deck wasn't the retired commander, but his wife.

Today, Ethan had directed the installation of the beach umbrella. It required a feat of engineering to keep it upright, anchored and effective to block the wind and sun.

Sam set it on its side, helped the boys dig an arc-shaped trench then sunk a good twelve inches of umbrella in the sand to anchor it. They were using it like a lean-to because shade on the beach was an Amanda Axe requirement, and it was too windy to use it in an upright position today.

No matter how much or often sunscreen was applied, children who spent hours on reflective sand were prone to windburn and sunburn, and the younger the child, the more shade and shelter was required. Of course, no one wanted to go back to the beach house for shade, ergo, the beach umbrella was purchased. Sam would have preferred a smaller, differently colored version, but at the same time it was roomy enough to keep all the little people corralled.

Most of Sam's favorite kids were nearby, sitting on beach towels under the umbrella because Amanda had called a sun time-out, an opportunity for other creative endeavors.

As for Sam, he was exceptionally proud of his accomplishment to turn ten kids into beach bums.

This was not something Fiona or Dani thought of as a good thing.

"Sam, I do not want my kids to grow up to be surfers or SEALs," Fiona told him recently. And Dani countered with the fact that Lizzy needed hours of practice. Jesse and Dani discovered their daughter's affinity to music when she was two. They'd looked at each other in awe and enrolled her in a gifted children's music program.

"Fi, teaching a kid how to be aware of their surroundings and keep their head above the water is not a bad thing," he'd countered. "Tell me you're doing this differently with Gabe and Meggie. And, Dani, all work and no play makes a kid lose focus. Lizzy likes sand. It's not an illness."

He watched Mike and Jesse bite back laughs on that one. They told Sam later they'd spent many more words than he had, ineffectively communicating the same ideas to their wives.

In fairness, Sam had tried to expand the kids' horizons, so before this week-long trip, he gave the bunch assigned to his and Amanda's care the choice between Disney World or the beach. Every last child voted for the Outer Banks and sand.

"Why don't you haft to do grown-up things like the other moms and dads, Grampa?" Abby wondered.

Sam had grinned. "Cause I'm all done doing grown-up things. I'm retired."

"You don't look tired, Daddy," Emily said, which made him laugh and hug his child, who luckily, like her brother, looked like their mama. Curly blonde hair combined with big dark chocolate eyes and long curly eyelashes just about did him in every time he looked at her, and then did him in again when he looked at her brother.

Just thinking about his children made him happy. All three of them. And, it turned out that there were two other people besides Zoe who were allowed to address Sam the younger as Sammy—his younger sister and brother.

Amanda had taken a picture of his children and grandchildren a couple of years ago that earned her an instant response when he'd opened it—a moment so intense, it trapped the words he wanted to say in this throat.

She'd taken a photo of Sam, Ethan, Emily, Jacob, Noah and Abby. They were each wearing jeans and dark navy shirts, barefoot, sitting in pale sand, near a clump of sea oats. She'd given another photo of Sam with his children to Zoe. The day had been overcast, so there were no harsh shadows on any of their faces. The photo Sam preferred, though, was the one that included Amanda.

The following year, she repeated the gift. And now, it was an annual family event that had expanded to include photos for the Westens and Porters. There was one massive photo that sat on the mantle above the fireplace in the beach house with all of the Westen, Axe and Porter family members, large and small, old and new. Sam loved it. He couldn't imagine his life now without every person in that photograph.

Sam heard Amanda whispering somewhat loudly to the Westen boys.

"It'll never work," she said.

"Oh, yes, it will. Just watch." That was Gabe.

Sam could hear the small sounds of clinking ice cubes and had a suspicion what they were about to do.

"Abby, get back here. Megan, you, too," Amanda whispered. "Lizzy and Sarah, be sure to dig up that doll before we go back to the house."

Her time out rule meant the kids needed an hour out of the sun after an hour in it. Sitting in the shade gave them time to examine scavenged shells and sea glass treasures, have a snack or lounge on beach towels or bury the man stretched out and napping in the sun next to them.

He'd heard their whispered discussion. Jacob, Gabe and Charlie were the creative team behind the idea to bury him in sand. Ethan and Noah were directing construction.

Earlier, they'd convinced Amanda to check and make sure he was really asleep before they started. When she carefully lifted his hat from his face, she grinned when he winked at her and knew he was a willing partner in the game.

She'd assured them Sam was asleep, but they should be quiet and not wake him.

"Sssssh, Emmy. Not yet. Don't do that," Ethan instructed. "I'm not done. Come on, Noah, let's help Jacob."

"Is he all buried yet?" That little voice belonged to Abby. "He looks really buried now."

Emily was just as concerned. "That's a lot of sand. Is he going to be okay?"

"Yes, but we need more sand," Noah whispered. "Sssshh."

"Don't wake him up," Ethan whispered back.

He could hear Lizzy, Megan and Sarah murmuring softly and, in the background, Amanda's low chuckles. Which meant the practical joking Westen cousins were up to something because he hadn't heard their voices among the group shoveling sand on top of his torso.

His legs felt heavy and cool under the damp sand blanket his children and grandchildren had been piling over him with assistance from the rest of his adopted nieces and nephews. Periodically, he could hear the shutter clicking away on Amanda's camera as she recorded their day with ten kids.

Diesel and Tank, Sam and Zoe's puppy who had grown into an unusually large Great Pyr, evened the odds for hyper-attentive child care while Sam and Amanda watched over the precious offspring of the Westen, Porter and Axe clans.

Beach security was Sam and Amanda's main concern, and she'd established the protocol that if you were a kid on the beach you had to wear one of her collection of brightly colored shirts—all highly visible colors—for kids and adults. If they momentarily lost a kid or a kid couldn't find an adult, the visual connection could be made more easily. Today, all the boys were in lime green t-shirts and the girls in day-glow pink. Yesterday they were in safety yellow and day-glow orange. Tonight, they would be doing laundry.

After the beach house returned to life as a private residence, they added another bathroom and a half, two more bedrooms and a lower deck which should be high enough to avoid hurricane surges. So far, so good. They'd been using the house for holidays, too, alternating Christmas, Thanksgiving and Easter with the Westens and the Porters or, more often, sharing the holidays together.

The beach house was a place of rest and friendship. Sheldon had given Zoe his share of the house when he'd married Carlee Metcalf following her recovery. Carlee was not a fan of the beach. She and Sheldon had been married almost a year when Sheldon suffered a heart attack and died.

Zoe had been devastated, and her husband could barely speak about their loss of the man who had been father to both of them.

Carlee had never been comfortable with the Axe family mob and had left shortly after Shel's funeral. A year or so after that, she stopped communicating with them.

After Sheldon's funeral and burial near her mother, Zoe was the most lost looking soul Sam had ever seen. She was his daughter every bit as much as Emily was his daughter. Sheldon had ceded the house to Amanda before he married, knowing the complex ownership status would involve attorneys now that Amanda was aware of what his role had been with the CIA. Fortunately, David Pence had forseen this possibility; the lease agreement ended upon Sheldon's death. The unresolved issue remained the disposition of equipment in Sheldon's bat cave.

Early one morning, Sam had found Zoe inside Shel's hidden com center. She was weeping, grieving. He'd taken her in his arms and hugged her until the tears slowed and she could speak.

"I've known about this since I was a kid, but my dad never told me what he did here," she said, looking around the room. "I wish he would have. He told Sammy."

"He was trying to protect you."

"I know. Do you know, I'm the last one of my family? Daddy was an only child, so was my mother, and now . . . I wish I had cousins or someone else. It's not that I don't love my Axe family . . ."

When her tears started again, Sam told her he understood, as the only child of only children. Amanda had actually had more contact with his Great Aunt June than he'd ever had.

Losing Sheldon had been as much of a loss for Sam's son as his wife. Sheldon had been a father to his son in all the ways he had not. Sam also dealt with his grief of losing a friend. His last conversation with Sheldon had been about Shel's desire to travel with Carlee to all the non-war zone places he'd wanted to see in the world. He'd been trying to figure out how to break that news to his daughter before his death.

Days ago, somewhere in Virginia, what Sheldon had done with his life, and what Sam had done in his life before he'd retired had been recognized.

The CIA handed out a unique set of awards to Michael, Fiona, Madeline, Nate, Jesse and Dani. The son who shared Sam's name and his birth day was accepting for his father while Sheldon's daughter was accepting for him.

Sam wanted no part of it. Raines told him he was being recognized, too, and didn't like the idea of a public ceremony any better than he did, but none of it had been his decision. There was new leadership in several agencies, and the DOJ wanted to recognize unsung heroes as a way to improve its public image. Michael was of the same opinion as Sam and Raines, but bad manners were bad manners, and intelligence organization relationships were part of their business.

Many internal changes implemented in the CIA, FBI, DEA and DIA were directly linked to the Westen team's operations, and were now part of the history of each federal agency. The final operation in which Sam had identified an attempt to steal new weaponry technology, had taken another 18 months to clean up and conclude.

It was a monumental task that had begun with one stubborn, angry formerly burned CIA operative and concluded because of a retired intel officer's instinctive belief that a newly developed weapons system was being stolen in the same piece by piece manner other intelligence operations had been infiltrated and subverted.

The fact that citizens, average Americans, whose only connection to the CIA, FBI or DEA was a relative, had joined in the clandestine fight would be a focus of the ceremony.

Westen's crew included three family members—his wife, his mother and brother, the retired SEAL intelligence officer, a retired CIFA agent, a criminally talented hacker, a Miami money launderer and current CIA employees Pearce-Porter, Peterbaugh and Carnahan along with deputy director Raines. They were to be honored, and the only reason Michael and Jesse were attending was because of SecuriCorp's continued working relationship with the CIA.

The entire list of those who had worked to eliminate and seal every leak was more than 100 people identified from reports filed over a decade. Sam didn't want to think about any of it, and hadn't for years.

He'd been sitting in Amanda's hospital room, waiting for her doctor to let them know if she could be discharged during that last conference call with Raines. He'd passed the baton back to Raines—he'd retired and had never looked back.

He couldn't spare the time.

Amanda's recovery following the birth of the twins was much slower and more difficult than either of them expected. It had been complicated by being emotionally chained to the neonatal intensive care unit where Em and Ethan spent the next seven weeks.

Sam did not want to admit to Amanda how relieved he'd been to know that her healing process would have the time she needed to grow stronger while their infants were kept in the NICU womb growing stronger. It had been an odd blessing.

During her first post-surgical check-up, Sam and Amanda had been needlessly reminded to think about making their last pregnancy their last pregnancy. He'd taken care of that on his own, and had told Amanda what he was doing and why. When Amanda teased him after that, they finally found something to laugh about, and that was the moment her healing process gained speed.

In those first months home with Emily and Ethan, Sam had his hands full of caring for his family in the most hands-on ways possible. Amanda could not have imagined 24/7 would be what he meant when he'd told her he wanted to be a full-time dad.

It had taken several of Amanda's teary episodes for him to convince her that just because something was sagging on her body, it didn't mean he would leave her or their babies. That was his first up close and personal experience with post-partum depression, and he was glad Zoe was able to provide basic translations for him.

He was also relieved it hadn't lasted long.

Amanda mourned the loss of her well-honed body and set out to put it to right. However, she was not happy with how long that had taken and complained every step of the way during their walks with their babies in strollers and Diesel.

Amanda's concern with her health echoed with Sam. He realized that, at his age, if he did not take care of himself, he might not live to see his children graduate or marry or settle into lives they wanted.

He'd started consuming health and nutrition news to the extent that it aggravated Amanda.

The last straw was his spinach smoothie.

"It's full of good things, Manda. One of these babies every morning and—"

"Then you drink that wretched green goop, because I'm not going to. Spinach is for salads, Sam. I'll have my fruit and juice and coffee and toast or oatmeal or whatever breakfast food I want, but you're not going to make me drink that. It's nasty."

But, Zoe liked it and so did Noah. At least he wasn't alone in his green is good endeavors.

Now, when he looked back on those first two years of his life back with his family, he had the sense of being some kind of cosmic prize—the spoils to the victor in the grand battle of good and evil. It had been a journey he never intended to take, but it brought him to a life he never expected to live. A life he embraced, every delicious minute of it.

Somewhere behind him he heard Gabe and Charlie's low whispers and the hush of other small voices, and then he heard Emily's giggle.

And, again, the clink of ice cubes.

His feet had been left exposed by the sand tomb builders. This would be easy.

He felt the wash of icy water against his feet and remained still. He didn't move an inch.

"It didn't work," Gabe said, exasperated.

"It should have worked!" Jacob said.

"Yeah." Noah agreed.

"Is he dead?" Charlie wondered.

Someone whipped the baseball cap off his face. He kept his eyes closed but didn't move.

"Oh, no, Daddy!" That was Em.

"Daddy?" That was Ethan, who didn't sound frightened, but puzzled.

"We killed him," Charlie said. "Manda?"

"No!" That was Noah. "Grampa!"

With that, he felt small hands start digging away the mound they'd so carefully constructed on top of his body. Lots of little hands and a couple of larger ones. He heard Amanda soothing the littlest girls with "ssh, shh, he's just sleeping."

"Mommy!"

"Gramma!"

"Manda! Manda!" Lizzy and Meggie and Sarah were yelling at the same time.

Amanda approached him on her hands and knees, put her forehead on his and whispered near his ear. "Are you alive, possum?"

"What's a possum?" Ethan asked.

"An old SEAL." She kissed his cheek and sat back.

He'd been successful—the kids who shoveled on the sand on top of him, had also removed it while he continued to play dead.

Amanda often wondered how many years he'd be able to get away with teasing the kids this way, utilizing his SEAL training and skills. It'd been remarkably successful so far.

"Grampa," Jacob said, nudging his shoulder. "Grandpa, wake up!"

"He's not sleeping," Charlie said with disgust.

"Nope," Gabe agreed with an equal measure of disgust. "He's not sleeping at all."

"What's he doing, Gramma?" Jacob wondered.

"Being a SEAL." She laughed.

Small hands patted his cheeks. "Daddy! Daddy, wake up!"

That would do it, Amanda knew. Emily and Ethan could do no wrong in his eyes, and at the least bit of worry in Em's voice, the man melted. It was a pitiful thing to watch a child that small control a man that large.

That was also something melted her own heart.

Sam yawned and sat up as Emmy tunneled into his arms from left and Abby from the right. He hugged them both and kissed their sweet little cheeks.

"Aw, now that's how I like to wake up from a nap," he said. "Getting kisses from beautiful girls. Hey, where's my hat?"

Ethan handed it back to him. "I wasn't worried, Daddy."

Sam loosened his hold on his granddaughter, who sat in his lap, and then reached for Ethan. "I know you weren't, buddy. Cause you're a tough guy."

He glanced over to Amanda. "Silly man."

"Mom!" Gabe yelled and took off. Megan followed him. "Daddy!"

"Hmm. They're back sooner than I thought," Amanda said.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

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The Westens planned to return to the Outer Banks as soon as they could. Everyone else would be staying an additional day in D.C. for some tourist activities.

Michael and Fiona weren't any better at staying away from their children than Amanda and Sam were. Maybe because the journey from where they'd once been to this new life had taken so long and had been so difficult.

"Grandpa," Noah said. "Will you teach me and Jacob how to play dead?"

"I can tell you how, but you'll end up teaching yourself," Sam said.

"Teach me, too?" Charlie asked.

"Absolutely, you, too," Sam said as he released his hold on Ethan and Abby and stood up. He winced.

"You okay?" Amanda wondered.

"Nothing a cortisone shot in that knee can't fix."

"Have the surgery, Sam. It won't take long, but you'll have to let all of us take care of you, for a change."

He shook his head. "No, another shot will do it."

"Stubborn man," she said.

Michael arrived with Megan sitting on his shoulders. "We made better time getting out of D.C. than I thought."

"Down, Daddy, down" Megan said, patting her hands on top of his head. He lifted her down and let her go. She headed straight for the water, and Sam and Amanda both turned to see which of the dogs noticed first.

It was Tank, who was moving a bit faster than Diesel these days.

Michael and Fiona's five-year old loved the beach, and would rarely leave without one last trip to the water to get knocked down by a wave. But she wasn't wearing a life vest tonight, so Tank wouldn't let her go far.

Sarah, Nate's five year old, and Lizzy ran toward the water, too, followed by Abby and Emily. At that point Diesel got up and headed toward the water. The girls were allowed to get their little feet wet, get splashed, but that was as far as they could go before the dogs ventured into the water and started pushing them back to the shore, by putting their large white furry bodies between children and sea.

The dogs actually preferred kids clad in life vests, because they could clamp on the vest and pull the child away from the water.

When Fiona joined them and stood watching as the boys headed toward the water, Sam chuckled.

"Hey, Fi, you don't ever have to worry about your kids being surfers. The dogs won't let them go that far out."

Michael and Fiona had arrived as the sun began slipping lower against the Sound; it was time to head back to the house. A few moments later, Amanda and Fiona had rounded up their kid collection of towels, shirts, toys and food debris, and were pulling the wheeled basket Amanda used for beach necessities back to the house.

The only kid who stayed to help was Charlie, who was helping his Uncle Mike and Sam move the large umbrella, brush the sand away and secure it so they could carry it to carry it back to the house.

Before they left, Sam and Charlie walked through the sand and dug out two hair bows, a doll and a green army man before they left the beach with Mike on one end of the umbrella, Sam on the other and Charlie in the middle.

After they stored the umbrella in the rack near the parking area under the house, Sam opened the small fridge under the stairs they used for bait and fish. A rack of fishing rods fit against the back wall. He took a bottle of water and offered one to Mike.

"So, got a plaque to hang on your wall?" he asked.

"Yeah, but—that won't happen. Brought one back for you, too."

"Yeah, but—that won't happen."

Michael laughed then. "I'm glad that's over."

"It'll never be over."

"No, but someone else can worry about that now," he said. "On the way back here, we decided we're going to take Amanda's offer on Shel's house."

Sam smiled. "Fi likes the view, and all that glass is bulletproof."

"That's what Raines said. He agreed with the equipment purchase, by the way. We'll need to make some changes."

"Makes it easier. We enjoyed staying there while our house was being remodeled. It might take you and Fi some time to get used to all that glass, though."

Raines had tried his best to put Michael Westen back to work as an operative, but as Raines' wife predicted, he failed. Before they were married, Michael had promised Fiona he wouldn't do anything to endanger their children when they had children, and he'd kept his promise.

He had an attractive offer from SecuriCorp, and since Dani Porter had turned her position with the CIA Miami office into a desk job, the CIA used the link to SecuriCorp's facilities and Michael and Jesse's clearance levels to morph into special project consulting. That would continue.

When Sam dropped the reins as an intel specialist; Michael picked them up. The SecuriCorp plan to open an office outside Raleigh-Durham as a logical opportunity in the research triangle area was almost tailor made for both the Porter and Westen families.

It seemed as if they were all ready to take the first step into another stage of their lives. It had been a gradually changing process.

Two years earlier, Maddie had married Doug, the retired chef she'd met while in the CIA's protective custody. She put her Miami house up for rent, and moved to Doug's home area near New Bern. Nate and Ruth's troubled marriage was on an upswing; they'd recently reconciled after a separation and had surprised everyone by relocating near Maddie and Doug.

The nursery operation where Maddie and Nate worked years earlier was up for sale and they were debating investing in it.

"Are Charlie and Sarah going home with you and Fi . . . or . . ." Sam wondered.

He knew Mike worried about his brother and his wife, but worried more about their children.

"Yeah, we're taking them."

"Sarah seems okay, but Charlie . . ."

"I know," Michael said. "He's such a good kid. He just wants his parents to get along."

On the floor above, they could hear the exterior door open and shut, and little footsteps on the decking and then the stairs. Ethan hurried around the corner first, missed a step, but got snatched up by Michael before he could fall.

Sam's eyes grew wide, but Mike grinned and handed the boy to Sam.

"Thanks, Unca Mike. Mommy says come to dinner, Daddy. We're 'posed to tell you_ now_."

"Mommy says you need to stop talking," Megan told her father as she grabbed his hand and started tugging him toward the stairs. Her brother was a smaller version of her father, but Meg was the image of her mother with long silky auburn hair and green eyes and freckles.

Michael scooped his daughter into his arms and kissed her nose. "Okay, no more talking."

He followed Sam and Ethan up the steps.

#

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Amanda came back through the French doors on the north-facing deck and dimmed the lights so they wouldn't interfere with star gazing.

Sam was conducting one of his lessons within a lesson for the kids. If you were going to teach them something, make it fun, that was his theory. His natural affinity for fatherhood continued to amaze her, as it had from the first moments she was aware of him following surgery after Emily and Ethan were born.

The touch that soothed their children while they were in her womb, continued to have the same calming effect.

At the moment, he had ten children, lying back on the low lounge chairs, with him and Michael, looking to the sky, trying to locate the Big Dipper and then the Little Dipper.

He was pointing out the differences between a star pattern and a constellation and was moving on to Polaris next and why it's important to know where the North Star is.

The first time she'd heard him explain that to Ethan and Emily, she found tears on her cheeks.

"You need the North Star to find your way home," he said. "And when we're back at our house, we can go outside and look up and there it is—right above our house. It likes to hang around your mom."

It would be Michael's turn to entertain children when they were finished with star watching.

Michael—the story teller, the master of voices and accents and languages. He'd always assign the role of the ogre to Sam, and Sam would always argue about it.

"I don't want to be the ogre, Mikey. I'm a good guy."

"But you can sound like an ogre. We need an ogre, Sam. Pretend. You can do that." And then the kids would laugh.

Amanda turned to see Fiona put the last load of shirts and shorts into the dryer and turn it on.

"They're still counting stars," she said.

"How long are you and Sam staying?"

Amanda glanced at Fiona. "Until Sunday. Ethan has an appointment Monday morning, and we don't miss those. You?"

"I was hoping to convince Michael to stay longer," she said, glancing away.

If Amanda had read the worry on her face correctly and her gestures and fatigue . . . then Fiona was probably hoping for a few more private, peaceful hours with her husband.

"I don't think you'll have a problem with that. Do you want us to take Gabe and Megan with us?"

Fiona reached to give her friend a hug. "Yes, please. And Charlie and Sarah, too."

"Are you feeling okay?" Amanda met Fi's momentarily shy green gaze. "Or maybe I should ask how far you are along."

Fiona smiled. "We've done this before, haven't we?"

"I think so," Amanda smiled.

Fiona sighed. "Three and a half or four months." With that she laughed. "I really thought we were done, and I wasn't paying attention—but you already know what I'm feeling, don't you?"

"It is a little confusing. It might not be what you'd planned, but at least your children will be closer in age than ours," Amanda laughed.

"I'm not sure I'll be as good at this as you seem to be." Fiona stopped and looked out the door. Night had fallen. It was dark and perfect. "I must be crazy."

"But happy." It wasn't a question.

Fiona smiled. "Yes. Very happy."

"I was, too. You are going to be fine."

"I hope so."

"Come on. Let's see what they're doing now."

"I already told Michael no more Irish fairy tales. No banshees. No witches, no murderers. What the Irish consider children's stories," she shuddered. "The wretched things can give the kids nightmares for weeks."

"Finn MacCool and the Children of Lir weren't so bad," Amanda said.

"Except for the 900 years the swans had to wait to hear a bell. Meggie cried and cried about that one."

Fiona dimmed the interior light and stepped onto the deck. Amanda followed.

Ten pajama-clad kids were clustered around Sam and Michael, and separated by gender. All the girls were sitting on Sam's lap or in his chair, and the boys were clustered around Michael.

Fiona and Amanda took the empty deck chairs just as Sam was making the kids an offer.

"Does anyone want to get up with me tomorrow and see two really cool planets? They look like really bright stars, but Venus and Jupiter are planets. Anyone?"

"Will you wake me up, Daddy?" Ethan asked.

His question was followed by a chorus of kid requests to be early risers to see the planets.

"OK, here's the deal. I'll try to wake each of you, but if you don't get up, I'm letting you sleep."

"Story time now, Dad?" Gabe asked his father.

"Are we ready?" Michael asked. "Sam? You're the ogre."

"I'm always the ogre, Mikey. I don't want to be the ogre. Ogres are mean."

Ten kids giggled.

"But you're such a good ogre, Daddy," Emmy said. "Really."

"Well, okay," Sam chuckled.

Tonight, Michael's story was about a boy and a girl who got lost in the deep, dark forest and had to find their way home, and the only way they could remember where they had been was to leave a trail of breadcrumbs that the hungry birds and bunnies ate.

Along their way home, they met a Russian and an Irishman and an Arab and a lost traveler from Japan and escaped the clutches of at least three ogres until they could find their way back to their mommy and their daddy.

Sam had been a grumpy ogre, a confused ogre and a mean ogre with a sore toe, using voice skills that made everyone laugh before Amanda and Fiona had declared the day's fun had come to an end and it was time for bed.

#

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#

Amanda and Sam retired soon after they got all their kids settled in for the night, and Michael and Fiona followed suit.

The bedroom they called theirs was on the lower level, near where Gabe and Charlie shared a room across from Megan, Lizzy and Sarah.

Michael had opened the window to let in the sounds of ocean and wind. It was a restful sound, so different here than in Miami. He needed the sound of peace. He'd been unsettled. Trips back to Langley always did that, but there was something about this place that always sent worries away.

He could easily understand why Sam needed to come here. When Amanda and Zoe gave him and Jesse their own keys to the beach house, they came without strings attached. "It's a family house. You're Sam's family. There's room for all of us here."

As soon as they moved from Miami, he suspected they would use the house more often than they did now.

When the wind picked up, the windows rattled and Fiona got up to close it a bit more, but left it open a bit. They both enjoyed listening to storms outside, but Michael knew there was a small squall between them, one they had yet to talk about.

Fiona turned to Michael. "I liked your story. Thank you for the Hansel and Gretel variation."

"Not too scary?"

"Not too scary."

He turned to slide his palm across her abdomen and let it rest there. "And this? Scary?"

Fiona closed her eyes. "I should have known. You knew the last time, too."

"Have you been to the doctor?"

"Yes."

"Fi—I can't . . . I don't think—" He pulled her fully into his arms and buried his face in the small space by her neck and felt his worries tremble his limbs.

If Amanda's emergency C-section had frightened Sam to the extent that the rest of his hair had turned white, then Megan's breech birth and Fiona's long recovery from complications following that had unhinged Michael equally. The possibility of losing Fiona to childbirth had been much, much too close. It had taken him months to be able to let her out of his sight, and he'd worked from home for most of that time.

When they moved to live in Sheldon Dunham's former residence, he'd be working from home all the time. The idea was appealing.

"I'm going to take very good care of myself, and when we get back to Miami, it'll be time for the sonogram. Michael, at our ages, we could have twins like Sam and Amanda."

"You're worrying."

"It's logical."

"Fi, are you happy about this?"

"Yes."

"Happy, but worried."

"Yes. Make me stop worrying, Michael."

He rose up on an arm and looked into her face as the wind beyond the house turned into a storm before lowering his lips to hers and erasing her worry.

#

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Amanda saw the flash of lightning and got out of bed to close the window across the room. She came back and lowered the window near their bed, but left it open a couple of inches so they could hear the storm.

Sam's knee was bothering him, so he'd taken the prescription he'd been given but he was still restless. She glanced at the clock and realized it was after midnight now which made it official. She got back into bed, reached under her pillow and retrieved her gift and sat up, cross-legged and watched her husband.

He turned and looked at her. "Hmmm?"

"Promise me you'll see the doctor about your knee when we get back."

He sighed. "Okay."

"That means you're really hurting. I'm going to make sure you go."

"Yes, ma'am."

She laughed softly. "Here." She pressed a key into his hand. "Happy Anniversary, Sam."

"It's not our anniversary until tomorrow."

"It's tomorrow already."

"Oh." He sat up and looked at what was in his hand. "What's the key for?"

"A pool."

"Manda, that's . . . that's . . . not right."

"I used your money, if that makes a difference. This way you can teach Em and Ethan to swim in flat water, and—"

He reached for her, and pulled her close as they slid down into their bed, face to face. "Thank you." He kissed her then, the sweetest of sweet things, and pulled back to look into her eyes in the storm-lit room. "But I'm waiting until tomorrow to give you your gift."

"You've already given me gifts, so many times," she said. "So many times."

Their debate was old, and it continued. Gently. Sam declined to partake in using any of the resources from CrossAxe that Amanda had developed, earned or saved.

Finding someone who could turn that stray apple orchard into productive operation was a project he'd worked on for several years. But he'd wait until morning to tell her.

His retirement check, now that it no longer was up against bar tabs, generously covered most things he needed—gas, clothing, some cash in his pockets, gifts. He'd taken a more active role in CrossAxe, Inc. to help and relieve Amanda, but she was decision maker, the CEO. He'd sign things David, Dee or Alex needed signed, and if she asked his opinion on something, he'd give it careful thought and let her know.

But, he wasn't about to interfere with the way Amanda conducted business. CrossAxe wasn't broken, and it didn't need him to fix it.

His cake baker had more or less retired from baking cakes unless it was a family birthday, but periodically she and Zoe would help or bake or decorate cakes for the women they'd sold The Cakery to. Amanda and Zoe's children kept them too busy now to run the business they'd founded. He knew she missed it sometimes, but he also knew she was glad it was in good hands.

The key she'd given him fit the door to a 1950s era community pool that had been drained and left empty in a building for too many decades.

It was in the same area as Sam's warehouse, and they had both grasped the potential it had when David made them aware the property was for sale.

It was Amanda who had listened to that conversation and decided it was the perfect project for her husband and son. Following Sheldon's death, she realized the dynamic between them had shifted.

She would never understand what went on between Sam and Sam; she was simply glad they had each other now. The pool project would allow each of them to use their unique skills to make it work, so thinking about every aspect of that meant an outright CrossAxe purchase.

Five years ago, this man she loved so dearly, had stood on her porch, asking for a divorce. Her dog had tried to frighten him away, and their son had knocked him to the floor within seconds of meeting him.

A year later, she'd been sitting in a doctor's office with him, waiting for the specialist who would interpret the latest x-rays of their youngest son's foot. She looked at him then, smiled and wished him a happy anniversary.

At first he'd frowned, but then he'd smiled when he realized what she was talking about. "It's been a year, hasn't it?"

"It's our déjà vu anniversary."

"We never celebrated the first one."

"I couldn't find you."

"I was on a tarmac in Israel, en route to . . . something."

"You're still en route to something."

"I am." He leaned over to kiss her, and that kiss lingered long enough that the babies in their arms fussed.

The doctor entered the room. He smiled.

"It's our anniversary, doc," Sam explained.

"Congratulations. How many years?"

"About two that count," Sam said.

"They all count," Amanda had said quietly.

"I just wasn't very good at counting, but I am now."

—_Fini—_

_For Erin, a lovely Irish lass, and her Neanderthal dog, Diesel_


End file.
